by A. S. Green
Natalie raises one eyebrow. I wish I could do that. I smile weakly and try to explain it better. “It’s like Thanksgiving, you know? Like when after the meal you swear you’ll never eat again, but then you wake up the next morning so empty you could chew off your own arm if you don’t eat again soon. Do you know what I mean?”
“No,” she says, “but that’s two food references in a row now. You must be starving, and so am I. How about we go to Paddy’s tonight and figure out how to get you satisfied.” Then she laughs, and that warm, rich sound is the best thing I’ve heard in what seems like a very long time.
Chapter Forty-One
BENNET
I don’t know why I’m doing this. Dinner with Alli? What was I thinking saying yes? First she offers to pick me up at the airport, next thing I know she’s inviting me to dinner. I bet if I took her dancing she’d want to lead.
“We should have gone to New Porte instead of Paddy’s,” she says. “Don’t you get tired of the same old thing?”
I raise my eyebrows and inhale through my nose. This was supposed to be a friendly dinner, but I’m getting a totally different vibe now. I didn’t even shave, but Alli’s blouse is cut a little too low and her skirt is just a little too tight for this meal to be anything other than a date.
She’s been talking for ten minutes straight about…I’m not even sure about what. My mind is preoccupied with the new song I’ve been working on, and for the second time in the last minute, my thoughts go to Katherine.
Traveling girl, pack my bags and go
To a place I’ve never known.
Waters teeming
Sunlight streaming
Gypsy dreaming
Beaming… Keening… Something that rhymes with keening…
Scheming…?
Fuck! My connection to Katherine is apparently so strong I can now summon her with my thoughts because here she is, walking into Paddy’s with Natalie. They’re turned to each other, so she doesn’t see me right away.
She’s been trailing me for days, showing up in weird places. Always there with a tentative smile. This time, though, I think it’s an accident. She doesn’t seem to realize I’m here.
It’s a nice change of pace because it gives me the chance to watch her without restraint. God, she looks good. Her hair is long and loose, and her pink T-shirt fits in all the best ways. Christ, I’m breaking into a sweat.
My traitor of a body is reacting to Katherine’s appearance in a very physical way, and I’m sitting here, trapped in a booth with Ms. Organic Kale. I think that’s what Alli’s talking about now. Kale? Apparently she has an organic garden. She runs a kitchen. I re-engage in the conversation.
“Oh, you’re a chef,” I say, like I’ve just figured out some highly complex riddle. It’s obvious I haven’t been listening.
Alli turns to see who I’ve been looking at. Katherine chooses that moment to get a lock on me. I know this because, even though I’m pretending to study one of the bear-warning posters tacked up behind the bar, her gaze is boring holes in my forehead. I glance over as her eyes go to Alli, then back to me. Her mouth pops open, then pain washes across her face.
Shit.
I’m torn. In fact, I’ve been torn for days. Each time I see Katherine I have the same debate: do I tell her what I know about her “friend” back home? Do I tell her the truth and risk her running away without really thinking us through? Or do I keep my mouth shut until she decides what path her life is going to take? Do I let myself look as miserable as I am in the hopes she’ll understand how much I want to be with her, but that I’m staying away until she’s had enough time to make up her own mind? How do I even say all that with just my face?
God, my head hurts. Why does she always make me think so much? I can’t play this game anymore. It would be so much easier if we didn’t have to cross paths. Even if this is an accidental encounter, I wish she’d stop. Stop and put me out of my misery.
Natalie notices me and Alli now, too. She pulls at Katherine’s elbow, so they end up sitting on the far, far side of the restaurant. The physical space doesn’t make this any less painful.
I wonder if Katherine’s body feels the same as mine: expanding like a party balloon, and that in no time at all I’m going to rise up and out of my seat and bounce across the ceiling. Maybe I could get caught in the fan and shred into a million tiny bits. That’s what seeing her is doing to me.
“Bennet,” Alli says in a high, lilting voice. “Are you listening to me?”
“Yeah. Your dad’s restaurant sounds great. I’ll have to check it out next time I’m in New Porte for more than twenty minutes at a time.”
“You really should think about doing something other than work on the ferry. Maybe you could be a music teacher.”
I consider telling her more about my songwriting, but then I decide she’s not the kind of person I want to share that with. It always triggers a litany of uncomfortable questions, like whether they’ve heard any of my songs. That’s what Katherine had first asked me. I hate saying that the best chance of them knowing my work is that stupid toilet paper commercial.
It typically brings a conversation to a screeching halt. Not with Katherine, though. I never had trouble talking to her.
“Or you could work at the restaurant,” Alli says, reaching across the table toward me, but stopping short of touching my hand because this isn’t really a date. Not really.
I say something, not sure what, and she laughs in that high-pitched giggle of hers. It’s ridiculous. I’m not that funny and Katherine knows it. She’s never been afraid to give me that deadpan look that says, You seriously did not just say that.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a sudden movement. Natalie’s on her feet and dragging Katherine out with her. Katherine gives me one pained look of betrayal before she disappears through the door, without ever having ordered a meal. It hurts, but it’s also a relief.
Alli is studying my face while I study my napkin. “Well, that’s good,” she says. “Kate’s gone.”
I glance up.
A close-lipped smile slowly spreads across Alli’s face.
I return my focus to my napkin and shred it into a million little pieces.
Chapter Forty-Two
BENNET
Oh, for the love of God and all that is holy! Will she never give it a rest? Apparently, Katherine’s brilliant plan for today is to stalk me by taking Lucy on a not-so-casual walk on the beach. My beach. They’re not fifteen yards from my cottage, and Lucy doesn’t even need walking. She and Sam run this island like they own it.
I don’t understand it. If she has something to say to me, why doesn’t she just come out and say it? Instead she’s back to this ridiculous shadow game. If she thinks I’m going to make the first move on this conversation, she’s mistaken. It has to be her. I already know what I want.
The only good thing about today’s play is that I’m sitting on my deck, hidden behind the ivy-covered deck rails. In other words, I can see her, but she can’t see me. It’s a relief to be able to watch her again, this time without any consequences. Like conversation. Or looks of betrayal.
The other night at Paddy’s was a steak knife to my heart. A newly sharpened, serrated steak knife. The kind on the TV infomercials that can cut through soup cans.
The wind is tugging at Katherine’s long, white dress, hugging all her luscious curves. She’s wearing that red scarf in her hair again. Shit. Goose bumps spread across my bare chest. It must be the wind, I think—lying to myself, because I can see the shape of her legs through the thin material and it’s all I can do not to catapult myself off the deck and take her right there in the sand. I miss her touch. The taste of her on my tongue. The way she makes me feel so self-assured.
I close my eyes and breathe steadily, subconsciously adjusting the front of my jeans. A second later I crack open my eyes just enough to be able to see through the vines. She’s launching bits of driftwood into the lake for Lucy. I’m surprised to see Lu
wade in after them—her compulsion to retrieve must be trumping her aversion to the water.
They’re both close now, no more than fifteen feet. Katherine ties the scarf tighter and fluffs out her long dark hair. It’s hanging between her shoulder blades. It seems like it’s grown since I last had my fingers tangled in it.
When Lucy comes back to shore after Katherine’s last throw, she shakes the water out of her thick coat. Katherine shrieks in response, then shoots a nervous glance in the direction of my deck. Lucy barks playfully, and Katherine’s got to know that—if I’m home—there’s no way I can’t hear that.
She’s still staring in my direction, and I hold myself still. Did something give me away? She can’t possibly see me. Oh, shit. My guitar is lying on the deck. From the angle where she’s standing now, she’s got a clear shot of it. She knows I’d never leave it outside if I wasn’t here. With a sigh, I remove all doubt.
“Why do you have to make everything so difficult?” I ask, loud enough to be heard.
“I-I—” Katherine stutters. I can’t actually hear her, but through the gaps in the vines I can see her mouth moving. Whatever confidence that red scarf was supposed to give her, she’s lost it.
Did she think she wouldn’t get caught? Did she think she could be within a quarter mile of me and I wouldn’t notice her? Nice try, D’Arcy, but you’ve got no game.
Someone has to put a stop to this. I hate that it has to be me, but it’s obvious she’s decided something—something she’s finding difficult to tell me.
If she’s choosing to go back to the Twin Cities, back to him, and back to that life, then so be it. I’ve done all I can. It’s her choice to make. Time to get on with it.
With a groan, I sit forward, drop my notebook onto the deck, and grab my shirt from behind my head. I shove my arms down the sleeves and start working on the buttons while I walk around the ivy wall and down the steps to the sand, closing the gap between us.
Somehow I miss a button, and the shirt hangs crookedly across my chest.
“How long is this game going to go on, Katherine?” If you’ve got something to say, just say it.
“Oh,” she offers, not making eye contact. She throws another piece of driftwood up the beach for Lucy to chase. “I’m sure Lucy’ll get tired of it soon.”
“Lucy, my ass. I’m not talking about a game of fetch. You’re stalking me.”
Her cheeks color in this amazingly beautiful way, like watercolor paint bleeding across pale paper.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she says, shifting her weight. “Besides. Even if I were stalking you, which I’m not, I’d prefer to call it strategic placement.”
“You’re making a joke?” I ask, my voice taking on an edge. Every muscle in me is coiled tight, and she thinks it’s funny? “Do you think this is fun for me? Do you think I don’t care?”
She doesn’t respond, and I throw my arms in the air to make my exasperation clear. My hands fall noisily against my legs. That’s when she looks at me. Really looks at me.
We’re only a couple feet apart, and I know I look like shit. I don’t typically pick up a razor on a daily basis, but it’s been a long time. I’m also aware of the deep purple circles under my eyes.
“You’re not sleeping well,” she says.
Lucy loses hope that Katherine’s going to throw the stick for her again, and she takes off after a gull that’s picking at a dead fish.
“No,” I say. It’s a curt response, but I don’t need her sympathy. What I do need is to wrap my arms around her. But that won’t do either of us any good.
“Me, neither,” she admits.
“Has your boyfriend-not-your-boyfriend been keeping you up with late-night pillow talk?”
Her eyes flash, and I instantly regret the question. One, because I’ve been trying not to think about that. Two, because it was a dick move. Three, because it forces her to retaliate.
“No. Has Alli been keeping you up?”
I press my lips together. Is she serious? She drops her gaze to my feet, and I dig my bare toes into the sand, gripping the earth like a bird preparing to push off. The bottoms of my jeans are white with wear and loose strings hang across my feet like a fringe. Her eyes slowly rise to the misaligned buttons on my shirt. My dishevelment has to be driving her crazy. Nothing about my appearance today would fit into her carefully cultivated sense of order.
But then, she isn’t wearing the same careful look about her, either. Her hair is free and windblown. No makeup. And her dress catches the wind like she’s some kind of goddamn fairy princess.
“Sorry,” I say, looking past her shoulder. “I don’t mean to be an ass. You don’t have to tell me, but you still haven’t answered my first question.”
“Which was?”
“How long is this little shadow game going to go on?”
“As long as it takes for you to talk to me again.”
My gaze drifts skyward. The clouds are stretched thin, like bands of salt-water taffy pulled across the sky. If that’s what she wants, all I have to hear is that she’s decided not to live a life dictated by someone else. All I have to know is that she’s not a martyr for someone else’s ideals—mine, or anyone else’s.
I shake my head quickly. “I talk to you, Katherine,” I say softly.
“‘Good morning’ doesn’t cut it. And since when do you call me Katherine?”
It’s dangerous, prodding this conversation forward. She and I are like a half-dead thing that if poked too many times might lunge—teeth bared—in its final act of self-preservation.
A shadow falls over her face just as Samson charges out of the woods. She swings herself sideways, like a matador, as he blows past and heads to where Lucy is now coaxing a small crayfish forward with her nose. Sam scoops it up, then tosses it into the air before catching it again, showing off. He carries the crayfish gently in his mouth, and Lucy follows him into a bramble that’s growing on the side of the cliff.
Katherine says, “I came here because…what I wanted to tell you is… Bennet, I think I’m—” She looks up at me hopefully.
I narrow my eyes and doubt flickers in hers. Doubt in herself? Doubt in me?
She clears her throat. “Listen, if this is really over…if you don’t want me arou—”
“Don’t want you?” I ask. “What the—?” I don’t mean to sound so angry. She takes a half step back.
When I exhale, gathering myself, she reaches out and touches my sleeve. I look down at her small hand, remembering the feel of it on my skin, gripping me. “Just say what you came here to say, D’Arcy.”
“Okay. Well…I’ve been helping Natalie with her party. It’s going to be really great this year.”
She’s avoiding the subject. I pinch my lips together and turn toward the stairs. She follows behind me.
“Natalie and Rachel came over last week. We made all the table decorations.”
“Can’t wait to see them,” I say woodenly, climbing the stairs.
“Yeah,” she says with forced enthusiasm, following me up. “I wouldn’t miss it. It’s going to be spectacular.”
“Great. Now I have to go, Katherine. So I’ll see you later.” I reach down to pick up my guitar and my notebook. It’s nearly full—I’ve been very productive this week. Heartache always writes the best songs.
“Andrew called when the girls were over.”
I stop in my tracks but don’t turn around. Andrew. Jesus. Here it comes.
Katherine positions herself in front of me, blocking my path to the house and forcing me to look her in the eyes. It’s cruel really.
“His parents took him to Italy for two weeks.”
My gut constricts with bitterness. Italy? Shit. “I stand by what I said. That kind of life…spontaneous trips to Europe, charity events, country clubs, standing Saturday appointment at the nail salon…” She holds my gaze, and I pinch the bridge of my nose. “It’s nice for some, I suppose. If that’s what you want…have at it.”
�
�Do you think I’m right or wrong to want that?”
“Doesn’t matter what I think.”
At those words, Katherine smiles huge, like I just won some sort of quiz bowl.
“What you were right about, D’Arcy, was pushing me away the other day. We shouldn’t have let things go this far.” I look down and swallow the lump in my throat. “Now finish this up. I’ve got shit to do.”
“Talking to Andrew,” she says, “well, it did make me realize a few things.”
My shoulders are square and stiff. I look at her quickly, then to the side. A fissure runs through my heart. “Say it.”
“I’m saying…I love him, but I’m not in love with him.”
My head jerks. I don’t dare hope. “Have you told him you’re not interested in all he’s been planning for you?”
She fidgets. So there’s her denial, and the crack in my heart breaks wider. Great. I veer around her, heading for the door.
“But I will,” she says quickly, grabbing my elbow and repositioning herself between me and the door. “He’s in Europe now, and I don’t think it’s something I should say in a text. I’ll tell him when I go back home after Labor Day.”
Then she takes my free hand and refuses to let me pull it back. Eventually my hand softens in hers. It’s not a surrender, only a retreat.
“You’re probably right,” I say. “You should talk in person. Tell him how you really feel about things. No need to mention me. Leave me out of it, but you do have to have that conversation before you move on. That is, if you’re moving on. Until then, we should only be friends.”
The word is bitter on my tongue. For such a nice word, it sounds like blasphemy. Still holding her hand, I slip it behind my back and draw her close. I lean in slowly, slowly, and kiss her on the top of her head.
“You’re an honorable guy,” she says.
“That,” I say, releasing her, “is a matter of opinion, and believe me there are plenty of opinions to go around on that point.”
“So for now we’re just friends,” she says, blinking back the shine in her eyes. “But definitely friends, right?” She looks like she has something more she meant to say. I give her a second, but nothing more comes.