by Didi Oviatt
The two leave for home Sunday evening. It doesn’t take long for my loneliness to return, and the quiet to remind me of what happened in the water. As the heat of the day sinks with the lowering sun, I choose a new book from the office library. This time my game of Spin-the-Carla lands on blue. The selection is large, and making a choice isn’t easy. I wind up settling for The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold. I’m reluctant to read a paranormal, as I’m all alone and have yet to read this genre since I got here, but this book has been on my to read list for far too long. Marsha has tried talking me into watching the movie with her and I’ve refused until I read the book. She’ll be glad that I’ll finally be willing to watch it.
I make myself comfortable on the patio and dive in. Page thirty-four is as far as I make it before none other than Blake himself decides to grace me with his presence. My heart thumps harder than usual, and I try my best to ignore him. He pulls the reclining chair that’s identical to mine until he’s close enough for me to smell his cologne. It’s fresh, rustic. I like it. I swallow the lump in my throat and turn my page, pretending to read but am now completely unable. He leans the chair back and latches it, so that it’s the exact same position as mine. Then he slides it over until they are touching, like a bed, and jumps on to join me.
I sigh, irritated, and turn a little to face him. “I’m reading, do you mind?”
“Shhh,” he says, holding a finger into the air to shush me. He reaches into his deep cargo pocket and struggles a book out of it. A compact paperback copy of The Great Gatsby was shoved so tightly into the pocket that it didn’t want to come out and the edges are all crinkled. It doesn’t go unnoticed that the cover is blue. Nearly even the same shade as my own book. “Me too,” he says and finds his place.
“You got to be shitting me,” I mumble, and go back to pretending to read.
I turn pages randomly, here and there, for about ten minutes until I can’t take it anymore. I slam my book onto my lap, raise the top half of my chair up a few inches, and then turn to him.
“How did you know I would be out here?” I demand.
“I’ve been watching you since you came to town,” he replies, cool and calmly, without even looking up from his book. His breath remains level and he flip a page.
“That’s quite the confession for being so calm,” I say.
“I have nothing to hide from you, Carla,” he replies and finally sets his book down. He interlocks his fingers behind his head, waiting confidently for more questions to shoot in his direction.
I comply, ready to fire at will. “The other night you asked me what I wanted from you. Why would you ask me that?”
“I see the way you stare at me, and I know that you’re just as pulled to me as I am to you. I can’t figure it out really, but I’m willing to try. I guess I was curious, I want to know if you have an agenda.”
I huff, “An agenda…” It’s a statement, not a question. I lean back, and interlock my hands, mirroring him. If only it was an agenda. A goal, or a mission of sorts to hook up with a younger man while living on the beach. Now that would be understandable, commendable even for bravery and confidence. But whatever this really is, is just confusing, embarrassing, and ridiculous.
“So, tell me, Blake Aspen, what is your agenda?” I drag out your, my best effort to turn the tables on him for a change.
“It’s not an agenda you should worry about.” he says confidently, yet with a serious stare into the ocean front.
“Is there anything I should worry about?”
Blake stands, slides his chair about a foot away from my own so that he can sit back down facing me, with his legs between us. He leans forward onto them with his elbows on his knees. With a level face, and the stillness in his gaze he says, “Yes. You should worry more about my possessive, obsessive, and even demanding ways than you ever should an agenda. Like I said, I have nothing to hide from you, Carla. I have not been with any woman since my wife took off. I haven’t wanted to, either. She took something from me, and I’ve had no time for women or nonsense until I get it back. That is, until you came along.”
I lean forward and fidget with the hem of my sundress. I’m a little hesitant to ask, but a question is eating at me, gnawing away at my insides. I know that I should be more worried about his confession about being possessive and obsessive and even demanding, but it’s the later part of his words that have me on edge. There’s a pain behind his eyes, and for some reason it’s being passed onto me. I can feel his heartache, and I’m not sure how to take it. “What did she take?” I whisper.
“That, I won’t tell you. Not yet. Not until you’re mine.”
“Yours?” I chuckle. I can’t help it. “What makes you think I’ll ever be yours?”
His face remains just as level and serious as it had when he said the word possessive. His eyes seem to have sparked to life with the question. I gulp and he speaks. “I get what I want, Carla. At first, I was curious and even confused. But, since the other night happened, everything changed. I know what I want... that simple.”
I can't seem to find my voice, and the small fidget of my fingers has progressed into a full-on kneading of the material of my dress. He leans forward and plants a small peck on my forehead before standing up and moving his chair back to its original place. “Oh,” he says, and spins on his heels. “That hotel gym room is always empty. My sister’s best friend works the front desk, and I work out for free. I’ve seen the way a few guys at the gym watch you, and I won’t have it. I’ll pick you up at eight and you can work out with me.”
“You mean the girl you went to the beach with, and threw over your shoulder like a ragdoll?” The snarky acquisition bursts out of my mouth unexpectedly and catches even me by surprise. I cringe at myself, and bite down on both lips.
“Yeah, that was for you,” Blake smiles his perfect tooth grin. “I saw you coming a mile away. Eight o’clock and wear those black yoga pants with the cherry blooms up the sides. They’re my favorite.”
I watch him walk away with my jaw dropped. He really has been watching me, close enough to know the exact time I always leave for the gym, to have my clothing memorized, and even to know who watches me when I work out. The logical side of my mind is screaming at me to run for the hills, but the sensual side is begging me to let him in. I’m torn in two directions and after watching him like a hawk until his powerful silhouette disappears in the distance, I snatch up my book and do my best to pick up where I left off.
Eight o’clock rolls around fast and I find myself pacing the front room in my yoga pants with the cherry blooms up the sides. Why am I allowing myself to go with this guy? I’m starting to question my sanity, but I’ve decided what the hell. He’s right, there is something pulling us together and I’ll be damned if I don’t get to the bottom of it. There has to be something about him that turns me away, there’s got to be, and I’m determined to find it. He’s demanding, that clearly wasn’t a lie, but I’m not worried about it in the slightest. If I didn’t want to go, I wouldn’t. I could care less about his demanding ways or his clear intent to own me in some strange possessive way. I’m not though. Curiosity trumps logic, and when he rings the doorbell right on cue, I practically run for it.
I stop myself at the handle and take in a deep breath to compose myself before swinging it open. He’s standing there, shirtless and in holey jeans that sag slightly from the downward pull of his hands in his pockets. Intentionally, I grind my teeth to keep my mouth from dropping open and then I twist my lips into a little smirk.
“Okay Mr. Demanding. Take me to this gym of yours.” I march past him with a straight back and my head held high, our shoulders clip slightly. Point one Carla, I think and smile to myself while I climb into his Chevy pickup.
The ride is quiet, and it’s all I can do to sit still and not squirm around in my seat. He’s comfortable in the silence, which is completely fine by me. Chivalry isn’t dead either, he opens the doors for me at the hotel, all of them. It’s a nice gestu
re and it makes me feel kind of young again. Once we’re in the gym, he sweeps an arm through the air. “Help yourself, I know you mostly run and use the pulleys, but if you want to use the free weights, I can help you and give you pointers.”
I look up and scowl. “It’s a little disturbing that you know my routine so well.”
He only shrugs, “curious,” he says.
I shake my head and storm off to the treadmill. I place my earbuds in my ears and find my favorite playlist before jumping on to run. I push myself more than usual, the decompression feels great. I steal little glances at my workout partner, who seems perfectly at home pushing his own limits. Whenever he catches me looking in his direction, he either smirks or winks. My legs nearly turn to noodles and I imagine myself slipping and the treadmill tossing my body at the wall behind me. The image makes me turn my head back and continue to avoid eye contact. The last thing I need is a trip to the hospital because I couldn’t handle being watched by such a sexy man-boy. Point one, Blake. Damnit, we’re all tied up.
We push ourselves for over an hour and as I wipe the sweat from my face and drink the last of my water, he’s the first to call it a night. “It’s getting dark,” he says, “care for a swim?”
“Ha!” I half shout. “All I want right now is to shower and sleep. I’m exhausted. Don’t count on anymore late night encounters any time soon. I only came to work out because you said it was free.”
He smiles and gives me a nod. “Your wish is my command.”
The ride back to the condo is just as quiet as the one to the hotel, only now I’m much more relaxed. The silence is nice, and I sink into it with ease. I take a deep breath, and I can very slightly catch a whiff of Blake’s fresh sweat. A welcomed warmth fills my lower stomach and lean in his direction to take another deep breath. The motion is little yet doesn’t go unnoticed. Blake places his left elbow on the rest between us and moves around in his seat so that he can lean my way too. I lay my head back onto the headrest and allow myself to melt into the comfort of the moment, of riding in a comfortable silence.
When Blake drops me off, he’s a perfect gentleman. He doesn’t say goodbye though, he says, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” and hurries off before I have a chance to interject.
I’m exhausted from the entire weekend and I sleep like a baby. The next morning, I’m not surprised to find Blake on my bedroom patio, halfway through The Great Gatsby. This time I join him, not the other way around. I decided on the same pineapple dress I had on the first time I came to Cayucos. With two glasses of pineapple rum -one for each of us - and my book in hand I make myself comfortable. I’m well aware that it’s way too early to start drinking, especially rum in California's summer heat. We’ll only stay out until it gets too hot, and I’ll be damned if he joins me inside.
We sip our dinks and sink into comfort with our books. It feels natural and calming. In all the years I was married to Bradley, and in all the years I’ve been alone, I can’t recall a time I was ever so comfortable. Just lying under the rising sun and burying myself into a book with the very soft yet distinct sound of a man’s breath beside me. After a good hour or so, we begin to talk between the turning of pages. Small questions and answers. Short and sweet. When it begins growing too hot and my stomach rumbles, hinting around to be fed, Blake stands and walks away. Back to his own house, no goodbyes, no awkward moments.
He doesn’t say anything about a workout on his way out. I don’t ask, I only assume he’ll be here to pick me up, and sure enough he doesn’t disappoint. At eight o’clock exactly, he’s knocking on the door. Things continue like this for an entire week. I learned that Blake Aspen inherited his condo as well as about half a million dollars when his parents passed away in a car accident. He was a teenager at the time and his girlfriend clung to him through the grief. He married her and a few years later, she ran away with several thousand dollars. He’s merely twenty-eight years old yet holds the composure of a man who knows exactly what he wants and when. He doesn’t say anything else about her taking something from him, and I don’t ask. I can feel the pain seep through his words, and I decide he’ll tell me if or when he’s ever ready. Before, he said he wouldn’t say until I’m his. I’m not ready for another comment like that, so I decide to let it slide.
After seven full days of falling into routine with Blake, he suddenly stops coming around. I don’t know what I did or said to cause his sudden disinterest, but it’s left me unsettled. I feel strangely empty, wandering around the condo like a pet who’s lost her human. I debate on showing up on his doorstep just the same as he did mine, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Day in and day out, I wait outside in the mornings. I go to the same gym I went to before Blake came along and push my body’s limits even harder than usual. I’m angry and feel a weird sort of abandonment.
The following weekend my kids make another trip out, and I need their distraction from everything Blake Aspen more than I care to admit. It’s a Friday afternoon and I look through the peephole to see Marsha and Dean, standing on the porch grinning from ear to ear, wholly proud of themselves for the surprise of being early. I swing the door open and the three of us squeal. Marsha reaches over to the wicker chair on the porch and picks up a bouquet of roses.
“Did you know this was here?” She smiles and cocks her head to the side, raising an eyebrow in my direction. “Looks like you have an admirer!”
Dean snatches it from her hands and marches past us both to the kitchen. “It’s him isn’t it? That Blake guy from the barbeque. It’s been a couple weeks, are you dating him?” He wags his eyebrows at me in approval.
Marsha and I follow him, nearly clipping his heels on the way. I grab the flowers the second he sets them down on the counter. Dean fetches a couple waters from the fridge and hands one to Marsha. They each take a guzzle and I chuckle at them. “Thirsty?” I tease.
Marsha tilts her head back and gives a satisfactory groan, “Ahhh. We left our drinks at home and didn’t want to stop. We drove on through with nothing but the gum and candy bar that I had stashed in my purse.”
I fetch a vase to put my flowers in and as I pull them out of their wrapping a note falls out. The three of us scramble for it, each one trying to snatch it up before the other. We’re all giggles and elbows for about three seconds. Of course, I win. Dean slams a fist of defeat on the counter and mumbles, “Damnit.” Marsha folds her arms over her chest and pouts.
“Well,” she says. “Are you going to read it out loud, or what?”
I look down and read it to myself first, throwing an open palm in the air to stop Dean and he tries to walk around me and read it over my shoulder. It says:
Carla,
I’ve decided to stop visiting you. I need more. Meet me after dark on the shoreline so I can pick up where I left off. So I can do all the things I haven’t stopped thinking about since I saw you naked. I’ll wait every night, for as long as it takes.
– Yours, Blake
I can feel my cheeks darken, and the space between my upper thighs stir.
“Well?” Marsha demands, arms still folded across herself.
“It’s none of your business,” I say precisely, before walking to the garbage and ripping the note into a million tiny pieces so that my nosy kids can’t find and read it later. “It doesn’t really matter anyway. We’re not dating, I haven’t been with him, and he’s too young.”
Both of my kids stare at me, like statues holding their breath. I stare back for a moment. “What?!” I finally shout, well aware of the still ever-darkening shade of my cheeks and ears. To that, they both double over in laughter. Marsha dumps her head into her folded arms on the counter, and an adorable snort sounds from within. Dean pretends to wipe a funny tear from his eyes.
“Whatever, Mom,” they both say in unison, reading me like an open book.
We play card games and gorge ourselves on way too much popcorn and ice cream while binge-watching The Walking Dead for the thousandth time. As soon as Marsha and Dean call it a
night and are fast asleep, I quietly sneak out. I know that I shouldn’t be caving into his request, but I’m pulled to him. I’ve missed him and am willing to see where the night takes me. My hands are shaking, and my legs struggle to carry me to him.
I find Blake sitting in the sand with his forehead dumped into the palms of his hands. There’s a large manilla envelope sitting in his lap, and as soon as I sit next to him, I can smell the liquor on his breath.
“Blake?” I hesitate but lean my head around him to find his eyes with my own. They’re bloodshot from tears, and his fists clench at the sound of my saying his name.
I’m suddenly afraid, and I consider running back to the condo and forever locking the door.
“Do you remember when you asked me what she took?” He asks with a wildly scratchy voice.
“Yeess,” I draw it out, unknowing if I can handle what may come next.
“I’ve spent it all. Every dime trying to find her, and here it is.” He shakes the envelope around in the air. “They finally tracked her down.” His voice cracks and he sniffles the loose snot in his nose.
“You told me you wouldn’t tell me until I was yours,” I remind him quietly.
He turns to me and grabs my face in both of his hands. Roughly he presses his lips against mine and pushes his tongue in. It’s intense and wanting, but I welcome it and return the passion of his kiss. I pull up the sides of my sundress and straddle him, the sand clinging to the bottom half of my legs. I pull away from the kiss and look into his eyes.
“What is in the envelope?” I ask.
He hands me the envelope and wraps his arms around my waist. While he cries into my chest, I open the envelope behind his back and pull out a stack of photos.
My stomach sinks and twists.