Flock

by Stewart , Kate

  “You two are nothing, and I mean nothing, alike. How are you feeling?”

  “Fine.” I can hear the smile in her voice.

  “Oh, shut up.”

  We share a laugh, and after it dies, her lingering silence puts me on edge. “Mom, you okay?”

  “Does he talk about me?”

  “No. We don’t even discuss the weather. Why?”

  “I just don’t want him saying negative things about me.”

  “I wouldn’t believe him anyway. He’s not the one who raised me.”

  I hear her sigh. “That makes me feel better, I guess.”

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah. I hate that you’re there. I feel like I failed you.”

  “It was a spell. You’re entitled to have one. We all are now and then, right?”

  “Right. But if you hate it there—”

  “I don’t. I’m keeping to myself. It’s like staying at an employee-free resort. I can handle this.”

  “You sure?”

  For you, I can. That’s what I want to say. “I’m sure.”

  “I love you, kid.”

  MY FIRST TWO WEEKS AT the plant are bearable due to my supervisor and the extended breaks he grants me. Still, I hear the whispers of a few as I walk by, and there’s no mistaking the sneer of a group of women who more than likely hate me for my last name. One in particular, a beautiful Latina named Vivica, constantly eyes me like my day is coming. The news must have spread fast throughout the plant that I was the owner’s daughter because more and more of my smiles go unreturned.

  The pacifist in me tries hard to ignore it, turn the other cheek and keep my head down. If I didn’t already think of my time here like a sentence, now I have every reason to. Sean senses their looks as well, but no one questions him when he whisks me off the line, including Melinda, who may not verbally object but doesn’t spare me her skeptical looks when I’m taken from our collective workstation. Though I seem to be public enemy number one, everyone at the plant seems to love Sean, and he has an easy rapport with most of the employees. The irony is that because I’m with him, I’m managing to get by, and it has nothing to do with my last name.

  We haven’t spent much time apart since we met. Whether sunbathing before our shifts poolside or spending our nights at the garage where the boys take turns teaching me how to shoot a game. Russell, Tyler, and Jeremy are always there, but Dominic is mostly absent. Even when he does make a rare appearance, he doesn’t give me the time of day. Yet every time I catch him looking at me, his expression keeps me on edge. It’s always a mix of curiosity and disdain. More than once, I’ve tried to summon the nerve to ask him what his issue is, and every time I’ve chickened out.

  Since I arrived in Triple Falls, I’ve been wrapped up and around Sean, literally and often, in the oasis in my father’s back yard. Each time we’ve gotten close to anything intimate, he presses a kiss to my temple, not my lips, and releases me. Several times, he’s leaned in with his lips taunting me, and each time I’ll catch my breath waiting, hoping his lips will drift from my temple or cheek to where I’ve spent ample daydreams imagining them. It’s as if he’s waiting for something other than the permission in my eyes to make a move. I’ve caught him numerous times, gliding his tongue along his lip ring while he’s watched me in the way that says we’re anything but friends. Butterflies swarm me when he’s around, and my body draws tight every time he pulls me close. I’ve memorized his body, aching daily to shift our relationship from friends to more. His refusal to act on our chemistry is driving me up the wall. At the same time, I love the delicious anticipation, the feel of his eyes on me as I take a shot at the pool table, the feel of his fingers tracing the water on my skin. It’s been frustrating and enthralling, and I find myself on the line often in the midst of a daydream while Melinda prattles on about her church friends, mostly the pastor’s wife. And not in a flattering way. But since Sean’s unexpectedly come into my life, when I hit the pillow, he’s often with me in my dreams too. Opening my eyes, I find myself grinning as I recall the latest image of him wading toward me in the water, the sun dancing around him, illuminating him as he prowls toward me. Briefly, I entertain trying to sink back into that blissful sleep to continue our rendezvous when my phone vibrates with an incoming message.

  Sean: Thinking of you.

  What are you thinking?

  Sean: All kinds of thoughts.

  Care to get specific?

  Sean: Some other time.

  Coast is clear if you want to swim.

  Sean: Good, cause I’m already in your driveway.

  Tumbling out of bed, I race down the stairs and open the door to see Sean, his hair damp from a shower and laying in a beautiful mess at his crown, his arms crossed as he leans against his Nova. He’s dressed in boots, shorts, and a black tank, and I take a mental picture as I stand there looking like God knows what.

  I blush, combing my fingers through my hair. “I just woke up.”

  “You’re beautiful,” he stalks toward me.

  I nod over my shoulder. “You can come in. My dad won’t be home until later on today.”

  He moves to greet me with a kiss on the cheek and I shy away. “Morning breath.”

  “I don’t give a fuck.” He leans in and plants a soft kiss on my jaw, lingering while the air grows thick between us.

  Breathless, I resist the urge to pull him closer.

  “Do you have hiking boots?”

  His question throws me. “Uh, yeah.”

  “Dress light and put them on. I’ve got something I want to show you.”

  “You’re taking me on a hike?”

  Hiking is the last thing I want to do with him.

  “It will be worth it.”

  “This is beautiful,” I pant out as we climb another set of boulders at the edge of the mountain. Muscles I haven’t used in years scream as the foreign feel of moss brushes my shin while I try to scale the rock. Behind me, Sean spots my every move, his breath hitting my thighs as I glance down where he trails my lower half taking care to help me, in case I lose my footing.

  “Couldn’t agree more,” he cups my ass with a hand to help me over a ledge of large rock. The clear insinuation of his tone spreads to my toes as I make it over.

  “Where are you taking me?” I ask when I clear the last step and take in the view before he hauls himself up to where I stand, the large backpack strapped to him doing nothing to weigh down his climb. He grips my hand, lacing our fingers when he reaches me. “Not too far now.”

  I glance at my watch. I’m supposed to meet Roman for dinner, and I hate the trepidation I still feel when it comes to him. I’m eleven years old all over again. After several meals, we’re no more comfortable together than we were when I arrived.

  “What time is it?” Sean asks, eyes flashing my way.

  “It’s early.”

  “Do you have somewhere to be?”

  “No, sorry, it’s just my father,” I release a stressed breath. “I’m supposed to have dinner with him later.”

  “But that’s later.”

  “Right,” I draw the word out to make it more of a question.

  “So, your free time is now, here, with me.”

  I stop and draw my brows. “Uh-huh.”

  “So, you should be here, with me.”

  “I am?”

  “Is that a question?”

  “No. I’m with you.”

  “But you’re thinking about your dad.”

  “Can’t help it.”

  “Sure about that?”

  I frown. “Is this a test?”

  “They say land of the free and the home of the brave,” he mutters, shaking his head as he resumes our walk.

  “Yeah, they do,” I follow behind him. “Your point?”

  He turns back to me. “I say, it’s the land of the mentally inept, electronically dependent, and brainwashed media slaves.”

  “You just insulted me. Gravely, I think.”


  “Sorry, I’m just saying why waste now time worrying about later?”

  “Now time?”

  “It’s the only measure of time that matters. Time itself is just an invisible line, a measure people made up, right? You know that. And while it’s good for reference, it’s also a major stress trigger, because you’re letting it control you.”

  I can’t even deny it. The idea of dinner with Roman is ruining my time with Sean.

  “Okay, sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. Just don’t give it power. Now is now, later will eventually be now. Don’t be a slave to the insanity of keeping time and keeping up. Now is the only thing you have control over, and even so, it’s an illusion.”

  “You are one strange man,” I laugh, shaking my head.

  “Maybe, or maybe everyone needs to wake the fuck up and snap out of business mode. But they won’t, because they’re too cozy in the down comforters they bought from an Instagram ad.”

  “Now you’re saying I’m too comfortable?

  “Depends.” He draws my arm to him, slowly unfastens my Apple Watch, drops it to the ground, and smashes it with his boot.

  “Holy fucking,” I gape at him, fish mouthed “…not nice!”

  “How did that feel?”

  I recover the destroyed watch from the ground and answer honestly. “It stung.”

  “Yeah, but what time is it?”

  “Obviously, I have no idea,” I snap, shoving the useless watch into my cutoffs.

  “Congrats, baby, that’s freedom.”

  “That’s unrealistic.”

  “For you. You’re still on a schedule,” he presses a finger to my temple, “in there.”

  “I get it. You’re saying I need to unplug, yadda, yadda, I’m sure there was a less painful way to make your point.”

  “Yeah, but you don’t get it, you need to retrain your brain. I bet you would draw the line if I tried to drive my boot through your cellphone.”

  “Damn right I would.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I need it.”

  “For what?”

  “For…everything.”

  He pulls a cigarette from his pocket and lights it, pointing at me with it between his fingers. “Think about it critically. How many times have you needed it today?”

  “To text you back, for one.”

  “I could have easily rung your doorbell. But I know you would get the phone before you ever got the door, and do you know why?”

  “I was on it.”

  He nods.

  He starts our trek again, and I reluctantly follow, still miffed about my watch. “So, I’m thinking you don’t have social media?”

  He sighs. “Fuck no. Hell no, the worst thing we’ve ever done is give everyone a microphone and a place to use it.”

  “Why?”

  He pauses at a clearing and turns to me, his eyes void of any humor. “A hundred easy reasons.”

  “Then give me the best one.”

  He considers my question briefly, taking a long drag of his cigarette. “All right,” he exhales, “aside from the slow and inevitable defilement of humanity, I’ll give you a scenario.”

  I nod.

  “Imagine a person born with an unparalleled gift of retaining knowledge. And in finding out they had this gift, they go straight to work, schooling themselves for years and years to hone that gift and turn it into a superpower, becoming a wealth of knowledge like no other, to the point they’re well respected, a reckoning force, someone to really listen to. You with me?”

  I nod again.

  “And maybe that person suffers a loss. Maybe someone close to them dies, and that death poses a question they have no answer to, and so they make it their mission to answer that question and refuse to quit until they have irrefutable proof of where their loved one went. So, they live, eat, breathe every minute of every day of their life for the answer to that one question. And one day it happens. They succeed, and in doing so, they transform their theory to fact, and if they share that proof, they know they could change life as we all know it. And say this person could not only prove there was a hereafter, but could prove the very existence of God, no more faith necessary. He’s real. So they have their proof, their life isn’t meaningless, the death they’ve grieved isn’t pointless, they have the answer, and they want to give it to others.” He takes another drag of his cigarette and exhales a steady stream before lifting hazel eyes to mine. “They post it on social media so the world will finally have the answer to a question that’s plagued people for endless centuries. What would happen?”

  “We wouldn’t believe them.”

  He slowly nods. “Worse. Betty Lou would debunk it in ten minutes, whether she was right or wrong because she’s got millions of followers, and her opinion is God. Then this other person, the person with proof, facts, video, is nothing but another quack on the internet because Betty said so. So, millions of people didn’t listen, and neither did their friends because Betty is always right. And still that quack who is so certain about their truth, who has bulletproof evidence, begs all the other quacks to listen but no one does because everybody is quacking because of all the microphones. And now, none of us will ever know God exists, and many will still live daily with the crippling fear of dying.”

  “That’s so sad and…” I draw my brows, “so true.”

  With another exhale, he flicks the cherry off his cigarette and grinds it out. “The sadder truth is that the only way to conquer the fear of dying is by dying.”

  “Jesus.”

  Sean grins. “You sure? Is He listening?”

  I roll my eyes. “You’re killing me.”

  “Why the turn of phrase? Does death scare you?”

  “Stop playing on my words,” I swat at his chest.

  He chuckles, then shrugs while unscrewing his water bottle. “You asked. Just relaying a message.”

  “That whole spiel wasn’t yours?”

  He takes a healthy swig and then recaps it, darting his eyes away. “No. Not mine. Just another quack.”

  “But this is what you believe?”

  His eyes meet mine, his gaze intent. “It’s the one that makes sense to me. Rang true for me. It’s how I live.” He leans in. He’s close, so close. “Or maybe,” he pushes the sweat-matted hair away from my forehead and widens his eyes before giving me a blinding smile, “I’m just another quack.”

  “Probably,” I say softly. “And you do obey the clock because you have to be on time for work,” I point out.

  “Got me there. But my free time is mine. I’m not a slave to time. And if I’m honest, my work time is mine, too.”

  “How so?”

  He nudges me forward with his hand on my back. “Almost there.”

  “You aren’t going to answer me?”

  “No.”

  “You’re unbelievable,” I grumble. This man is absolutely nothing like I expected, and yet I can’t get over what comes out of his mouth or the fact that I know he means and believes what he says. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone so confident in their skin, so sure of their place. My eyes glide over the perfection that is Alfred Sean Roberts as he walks in contemplative silence beside me.

  “So, what’s your superpower?” I ask, a little breathlessly while keeping his pace.

  “I’m good at reading people. Anticipating what they want. Yours?”

  I spend a few seconds thinking about it. “I don’t know if it’s necessarily a superpower, but most mornings, I can remember my dreams…vividly. And sometimes, if I wake abruptly, I can resume them. Other times I will myself back into them.”

  “Pick up where you left off?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s cool, I sleep so hard, I never really remember mine.”

  “Sometimes they hurt,” I admit, “so much so that it can ruin a day of my life just from the feelings they evoke. So, it’s not always good.”

  He nods, his eyes scouring the trees before looking over at me. “E
very superpower has a price, I guess.”

  We’ve been off the beaten path of the specified trails at the mouth of the mountain for what seems like forever. Once we clear the next set of rocks, I marvel at our surroundings and my new back yard. I’ve spent weeks driving around the narrow roads and steep inclines of the mountains and not once thought about breaching the trees to see what’s inside. Fully submerged, I never expected to be so enamored by the tranquility, the cool air, the organic smell, or the sweat covering my skin. I look over to Sean with fresh eyes.

  “You’ll make a mountain hippie out of me yet.”

  “Let’s hope so.”

  Somewhere between the time I saw him standing at his car this morning and the few hours we’ve spent on our hike, I’ve let a part of me I’ve kept locked away for years, my romantic heart, begin to hope. Sean’s made it far too easy to give it a reason to peek around the corner of the bitterness I’ve buried it behind. With every look, every touch, every easy exchange of words I feel that beckoning, letting me know it might be safe to come out and take a look around.

  But we haven’t been in this long, whatever this is blooming between us. Even if Sean declared time our enemy, I’m all too aware that trust is fragile and can shatter in an instant. Time has told me it only takes seconds to be made a fool. In my short experience with men, I’ve been cheated on, lied to, and humiliated, and I have no intention of letting that happen again if I can help it. I don’t at all have a good track record with trusting my instincts when it comes to men. And after my last disaster, I promised myself I would be more cautious. The next man who wins my heart, my affection, will have to do a lot more to deserve it than offering pretty words and petty promises. Yet that promise I made to myself and my new determination for a temporary jailbreak don’t mesh well. Sean is one tempting apple in my celibate new garden. Physically, I want him. And it’s clear the feeling’s mutual. Maybe I shouldn’t think past that.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “Just glad I’m here.”

  He gives me a side-eye. “I’m calling bullshit.”

  “I haven’t…dated in a while.” I’m not sure it’s the right word to use.