The Mason List

by S. D. Hendrickson

  “Charles. All tie and no plan. Complete insane and non-plausible ideas that will go nowhere. But he was cute. So I listened and played civil until I thought my brain would just self-destruct to put me out of my misery.”

  “Can't you just discuss normal things?”

  “What's the fun in that? So where have you been?”

  “That new French coffee place on Sixth.”

  “And how is Jess tonight?”

  “Fine.” I stayed clear of the tell-tale eyes and fell back flat against my mattress. I got myself in a real mess tonight and I didn’t have the energy for her to poke holes all through it.

  “Where are my shoes?”

  “Long story.”

  “Concerning my shoes?”

  “I would be more concerned someone your size has such big feet and can share shoes with me.”

  “Alex…where are my shoes?”

  “Ok, ok. I'll get you some more,” I muttered under my breath. “I’m sure the Masons can afford a pair of your fancy, designer shoes.”

  I didn't hear a reply. Sitting up, I found Sadie’s hazel eyes scrutinizing my slumped frame. “So…” she probed.

  “What!”

  “This isn’t about shoes.”

  “Let it go, Sadie.”

  “Let’s discuss the long story. You know the one where Jess is in love with you and you pretend he isn’t.”

  “No, it’s not like that.”

  “Alex, that lie isn’t working anymore. He stared at you all night. It was a toss-up between exorbitant pride and some broody I-want-to-take-that-dress-off stare with those blue eyes. A little cute actually, but you….”

  “Sadie!”

  “You can’t deny it, sweetie. Not anymore. He’s way too transparent with his feelings.”

  “I know,” I whispered.

  My shoulders sagged, and I collapsed back on my bed, feeling the suffocating pressure in my chest. Tonight was a train wreck. I never should have let him touch me. I never should have let him kiss me. The answer to his question was yes; his lips on the neck and skin and top of my breast was kissing.

  “So what made you all twisted up and full of doom and gloom with your cowboy?”

  “He’s not my cowboy.”

  “Sure, sweetie. Why don’t you tell yourself that little fake story and tell me the real one.”

  “I told you it was a long.”

  “I'm up and you’re jittery, from what I assume was a monolithic cup of espresso you had with Jess as he gazed into your eyes, which sent you into some neurotic internal fit. So start talking.”

  “Alright, alright. If it will make you shut up, I’ll tell you the truth.” I walked over to flip off the light, launching the room into a safe darkness. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you when I said it was long.”

  I sat cross-legged on my bed. My heart beat fast in my chest as I told Sadie the ghastly story of my life. It was the first time I ever told anyone. I’d never had someone I trusted enough to hear all the messy details. When I finished, I waited for Sadie's reaction. I’d spent enough time in her company to know she was processing the information. She skipped right over the humiliating part, where I confessed to living in my car, and went straight to the problem.

  “So you’re pretty indebted to the Masons.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, at least you’re getting a college education from it. You have to look at it that way. It defines your future. You had no choice but to say yes, and let the Masons send you to school here.”

  “I know. I came to the same conclusion.”

  “Here’s something you need to think about. People use other people for self-gain. Even expect handouts from others. I think you are different. This family offered you a life. It wasn't something you just expected from them. So I don’t think you’re using them, sweetie.”

  “It doesn’t feel that way.” I reached for the bottle of water sitting on my night stand. The hour of talking left my throat dry and scratchy.

  “What do you plan to do with your list?”

  “I'm not sure just yet. I figured one day the answer would be standing in front of me, or maybe screaming at me. I don’t know. The whole thing’s a little crazy.”

  “I'm a planner. You knew that already. I’m not just a Type A personality, but more like an A plus. I understand lists. I have lists of lists. Don't roll your eyes. It's true. My future is in those lists. They only work because I have a plan. If you intend to keep your Mason List, then you need to figure out the goal. Otherwise, a list without a tangible plan or purpose will hold you back instead of moving you forward. Something that significant will only become mushed up nonsense in your brain, distracting you from the important decisions in your life. Trust me on that one, sweetie.”

  “What would you do with it?”

  “I wish I could help but it's not my life that was affected. I didn’t make this one. It's your life and your list. Only you know what resolution will give you a sense of absolution, a sense of peace.”

  “I wish this wasn’t so damn complicated.”

  “I know, sweetie. But I understand now, I think.”

  “You do?”

  “Your friendship with Jess is…very complex. And since we are dissecting that blue-eyed cowboy, is Jess as good as I think he is?”

  “Sadie! I didn't have sex with him. We’re not that kind of friends.”

  “I wasn't implying that you did. Jess is, oh, how you put it. That boy has intensity to his personality. He's one of those that you just know from one kiss how the rest will be. I've been on that twisty road and the end was even better than the beginning. So was it good?”

  “It doesn't matter how he makes me feel. There can never be more between us. Not with everything that happened. Jess is a Mason, and he’s gonna take over the ranch soon. He will have all the power and could even kick my dad out of the farmhouse if he wanted to.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Fine,” I sighed, annoyed. “It was something I can’t even explain. You take everything between us. We know each other so well. When he kisses me, it’s like I can’t even think straight. His lips are so soft and then his eyes get dark and I know…what he’s thinking. And I can’t breathe. Like I can’t breathe unless he keeps kissing me…and it takes everything in me to tell him to stop. Because I…I can’t do this with him. I can’t Sadie. I just can’t.”

  “And that’s my point. You need a plan. I’m not sure how you intend to keep this little friendship going the way it is.”

  “I know.” I felt sick hearing her words. It would be a long night.

  The next morning, I received a bouquet of tulips. Before I opened the card, I knew the orange flowers came from Jess. My heart beat frantic in my chest seeing his handwriting. We needed this summer apart if I was going to continue taking from his parents.

  Beautiful flowers for my beautiful girl. Cheesy as hell, right? But I know one day you’ll let me say the real words to you. – Jess

  Chapter 28

  Today, 2:27 a.m.

  My father grips the steering wheel. I sit in the passenger seat of his black Ford F150. We pass only one car on the way out of Arlis at this time of night. I’m still awake as the truck gets on the interstate. I want to be asleep but then again, I want to be awake.

  My father looks over in my direction for the hundredth time. “You should try to sleep.”

  “I’m not tired,” I mutter the lie. I’m exhausted in both my body and mind. Absently, I rub my fingers over the blue stars inked into my wrist. As the truck whisks down the highway, I seek comfort from the same stars shining through the windows.

  “Did I ever tell you about the first time I talked to your mother?”

  “What?” I mutter.

  “Your mother thought I was crazy,” he chuckles a little to himself. “I saw her on this little bench in the park where I took my lunch breaks. She was beautiful, Alex. I’d never seen anyone like her. She had this long, red hair. It’s what I n
oticed first, you know. Made her stand out from all the other girls.”

  “You liked mom because of her hair?” The knot in my stomach grew tighter.

  “Yeah, I did. It had me all crazy. She came to the park the same time I did every day. I watched her for weeks before I got up the nerve to talk to her. And you know what I did? I told her I loved her.”

  “The first time you talked to her?”

  “I did. Then I spent the next month trying to make her think I wasn’t insane. But it was true, you know. I loved your mother the first time I ever saw her. I loved her even more the first time I ever talked to her. The day we got married, and the day you were born, it just got stronger. I still love her now, Alex. It doesn’t just stop because someone is gone. I want you to know that.”

  “What about Caroline?”

  “It’s complicated, you know. Your mother was the love of my life. When you feel that connected to another person, I think a part of you is just bound to them, even when they’re gone. And that’s ok. It’s how you know the feelings you had for them were real. But what I feel for Caroline is strong and I do love her. I give her all of what is left.”

  “She’s ok with it?”

  “Alex…my feelings for Caroline are more complicated than just a simple answer. Maybe we should save that part for another night.” He reaches over and grabs my hand. “I was just trying to help you.”

  “I know.” I swallow hard; my tongue feels like sandpaper. “I stopped thinking about it for a while at least but it’s hard…I don’t know what I’m supposed to think. Or what I’m supposed to do anymore.”

  “Maybe you should try praying for a miracle.”

  “Don’t start with that tonight. I need facts and…and answers.”

  “Sometimes we don’t have concrete facts and answers. Sometimes all we have is faith and hope and you just have to trust it.”

  “So I ask for one of your miracles. What if I don’t get the one I want? What then? I get my hopes up only to have to experience this all over again.”

  “You may not know why but you just have to accept the fact you got the one that needed to happen.”

  “What about deserve?” I yank my hand free of his tight grasp.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Maybe I did bad things. Maybe I can’t ask for something because I’ll just get what I deserve.”

  “I don’t think it really works that way. Don’t give up hope, no matter how impossible it feels.”

  “You believe in miracles. I believe in retribution.” Curling up against the window, I start to shake. I wasted so much time doing so many stupid things. I would do anything right now to get those days, months and even years back.

  My shoulders shake as my body tries to hold back a sob. I think about my stupidity. I think about how I would do things different if given the chance. My thoughts hurt too damn much. The stars haunt me as I cry against the window.

  Chapter 29

  When I was nineteen…

  A week after finals, I drove El Chigger to the luxurious swamp of Louisiana. My destination was just over the border in the middle of no man’s land, about fifty or so miles east of Beaumont. I followed a long, dirt road that stopped under a sign painted in red letters, Camp Rochellas.

  Hesitating on the brake, I studied the area just through the gravel driveway. I was a little nervous coming to this place alone. Sprayberry had haunted my thoughts, like a comfortable memory, the entire drive here. Part of my soul yearned for another summer on the ranch. Caroline would give me a job in a heartbeat. My father would be thrilled. Jess would be…

  It’s just a few months, I thought, letting my foot off the pedal. It was time to move forward and meet my new summer companions. Unloading my bags from the trunk, I walked across the worn grass path following the signs for the staff bunks. The room held a musty scent of old wood and moth balls.

  A few people smiled with a hello but talked amongst themselves. I got the impression this was not the first summer for most of the staff. My teeth bit down on my chapped bottom lip. It’s just a few months, I reminded myself. I came to Rochellas to teach art. Therefore, I would focus on the students.

  I began the first two-week rotation trapped in a room with children who preferred Play Stations over painting. The sweet and appreciative students proved to be few and far between. The majority of the kids bordered on obnoxious brats, banished away by their parents for the summer.

  On the second day, while adjusting to the grueling hours of Rochellas, I met the first person who bothered to have a conversation with me. He didn’t have much choice. I literally crashed into him, knocking us to the mess hall floor in a red explosion of marinara and noodles.

  “Shi….” I caught my words, trying to honor the counselor rules. I looked into a set of humorous brown eyes, resting under blond, scraggly hair. “I’m so sorry. It’s my fault.”

  “You have noodles in your hair.”

  “Shi….” My face turned red as I swatted at pasta, hanging next to my ears. This day just grew increasingly better. I had overslept this morning and missed breakfast. Now, my lunch was on the floor and I was covered in marinara. My afternoon class started in fifteen minutes. Those little brats were brutal. Just a splatter of sauce would turn this group into an unruly, laughing riot until their parents picked them up next Friday.

  “Here, let me help you. I’m Dutch by the way.” He held out a tan hand for me to shake. My eyes followed up his brown arm that led to a cut-off shirt sleeve.

  “Alex.” I clasped his fingers for a moment then let go to grab a napkin.

  “Alex, huh.” Dutch took the white paper from my hand and removed the sauce from my right thigh. He wiped in slow movements. “Those are some nice legs. Way too long and sexy to belong to some Alex. You sure it’s not Lexie?”

  “Are you for real?” I blurted out laughing.

  “How real do you want me to be?” Dutch stood up, flashing a grin that probably worked on most girls, or just life in general. Grabbing my hand, he pulled me up from the puddle of scattered food. “So what hellish activity did you get pegged with this year?”

  “Art.”

  “That’s intense, being cooped up with those rich brats in a room. You should try switching to the boats. You’ll get the best tan of the summer.”

  “I like art.”

  “We’ll see if you do at the end of the first session. I gotta run now. I’m a lifeguard. Poolside, not lake. See you around, Lexie.”

  He sauntered off barefoot from the mess hall. I noticed his blond, surfer hair had lighter streaks from the sun, or maybe he actually highlighted it. Rolling my eyes, I contemplated the only person who had bothered to notice my arrival at camp. He was pretty as in pretty hair, pretty skin, and pretty damn self-assured. A combination I assumed got the attention of most enamored females, including me as I watched his ass disappear out the door.

  That evening, I arrived alone in the mess hall for dinner. I heard a girl laughing before I even approached the rusted door. My stomach grumbled as I made a beeline for the food.

  “Lexie!”

  I stacked a small salad on my tray and something resembling meatloaf. I grabbed a bowl of macaroni and cheese. My stomach grumbled, so I grabbed a second one.

  “Lexie!”

  I turned around, hearing the voice again. At a table by the window, the blonde boy named Dutch waved in my direction. I walked over and hesitantly took the empty seat next to two other staff.

  “Hey, you survived. I was afraid the little shitters tied you up in that hellhole.”

  “Oh, um…no.”

  “So Lexie, this is Darcy and Brecken.” I tensed at his use of my new nickname again. I wanted to correct him but held my tongue in front of his friends.

  “The hot girl with the sexy name.” Darcy smiled and my face got red with her comment. She had full lips, accented with a tiny Cindy Crawford mole above the left side. “I’m just kiddin’. Well, not really. Isn’t that what you called her, Dutch?
”

  “Don’t be a bitch, Darcy.” Dutch glared in her direction.

  She flipped him off then looked at me. “Don’t believe the crap Dutch says about us. This is my second year at Camp Hell-as. Dutch and Brecken’s third.” Her blond hair hung in damp waves around a cutoff yellow Rochellas t-shirt that covered her swimsuit. Looking closer, I realized it was her lacy, black bra cups poking out from the ripped neck.

  “Ain’t she his new Hatchet House girl?” Brecken spoke up from his sleepy trance. The pupils of his eyes waved in and out above a full face of hair.

  “What’s a Hatchet House?”

  “Ignore my dumbass friend.” Dutch elbowed Brecken. “He’s a little um, preoccupied right now.”

  “She wants to know about the Hatchet House, Dutch. You should go ahead and tell her. It’s not like she won’t find out,” Darcy cackled again, in that obnoxious voice.

  “Shut up.” The cut of his brown eyes shut her down this time. He turned his attention back to me as I chewed another bite of meatloaf. “So Lexie…you should hang out tonight with us. We’ve got this little tradition out on the docks during the brats’ campfire night. It’s an invitation-only party. Really laid back.”

  Dutch casually touched my shoulder as he talked. His fingers slid down my arm, ending with an accidental boob brush. I couldn’t help but smile at the innocence he tried to project from his brown eyes.

  Dutch was good at blatant flirting while shuffling it behind a slow, rugged smile, which reminded me of a California beach version of James Franco. Charisma and charm are not just acquired; people like Dutch are just born with it. So was another person I knew. I swallowed, blocking out the thought.

  “So um, who goes to the docks?” The question came as I scooted back into my own personal space. I wondered if this was an actual party or a private invite to get me alone.

  “Brecken, Darcy, and few others.”

  “I don’t know. I’m not much of a water person.”

  “Oh, we don’t get in the water.” Brecken perked up, his hazy smile buried beneath the brown whiskers on his face. “You have to come, Lexie. It’s what makes the summer with those little shits bearable.”