by Laura Kemp
“I’m making the call.”
I slunk lower in the chair and looked at myself, still wearing the clothes I’d bartended in, feet aching from hiking a mile in black flats, phantom voices ringing in my head and knew he was right.
I wasn’t going anywhere and I sure as hell needed him.
More than needed. Wanted.
After a few minutes, he returned with a glass of water. I sat holding it for a long time, the cool surface giving me something to focus on.
“Tell me what happened.”
I shrugged, feeling sheepish. Did I really think I could knock on his door at three o’clock in the morning and come away with my secrets intact? What was wrong with opening up? Letting go?
Like I’d told him to do.
“Tell me.”
I closed my eyes, remembering that day at the pool and the smell of chlorine burning my nose. “The guy who broke in stole something from me.”
“What was it?”
I drew a silent breath, feeling like I was about to jump off a cliff with this guy, hoping we wouldn’t land in the shallow end and break our necks.
“A birthday present my Dad gave me. I’ve never opened it.”
“Why?” he asked.
I shrugged, more embarrassed than I cared to admit. “He took off on Mom and me. Didn’t leave a thing behind but that stupid present and I guess…I wanted to teach him a lesson.”
“You’ve never wondered what was inside?” he asked, and I felt my annoyance rise.
“Of course I did, but if I opened it, I knew it would be the end.”
“The end?” he echoed, clearly confused. “Of what?”
“Of Dad and me.”
He seemed to understand, which was more than I could say for myself.
“I don’t even care anymore. He left a note. That should be enough.”
Dylan’s voice was soft when he asked, “What did it say?”
I shrugged again. “Not to look for him.”
“So, you didn’t?”
“Not then.”
He drew back, awareness sinking in. “Is that why you came up here?”
“He used to fish the Ocqueoc River. I saw a picture of him in the paper when you got that heavy snow.” I shook my head, unwilling to go any farther. “I don’t know what I thought.”
“I’m sorry,” he kneeled in front of me, taking my hands in his. “You didn’t deserve that.”
I looked down, tears forming in the corners of my eyes and it seemed to throw him off. So, he started asking questions. Cop questions.
“Why do you think he wanted the present?”
“I don’t know.”
“Any sign of forced entry?”
“No. The door was open when I came home and Holly was gone.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
I felt embarrassed. I’d been on my own for so long, it was second nature to handle things myself. “I tried Holly first. I didn’t want her to come home.”
“I was worried about you.”
I looked into his eyes, knew he was telling the truth. “I’m sorry.”
He softened a little, sat down on a sofa adjacent to my chair and let out a sigh. “I don’t mean to be a hardass, but you have no idea what I’ve seen.”
I wanted to tell him the same thing but nodded instead while he continued to rattle off questions.
“Think you could spot this guy in a lineup?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
I paused, thinking of the man in the wide-brimmed hat, the man I’d colored while sitting beside Dad in our breakfast nook. “He didn’t have a face.”
Dylan’s eyes darkened.
The phone rang. He moved off to answer it and after a few minutes returned to the living room, confusion marking his features.
“One of the guys on patrol checked the place out,” he sat down opposite me. “Said everything was in place.”
I felt sick to my stomach. “The package—”
“Was on the back porch.”
I released my breath, a stab of relief piercing my chest. “He must have dropped it when he saw me looking out the window.”
Dylan nodded. “Not surprised. It’s not the kind of thing a thief would risk jail time over.”
“What was he after then?”
“No idea. But you need to keep your doors locked.”
I looked away, feeling like a naughty child.
“Justine—”
“I know,” I turned back, my throat catching when I saw how serious he was. “Sorry I bothered you.”
“You really think you bothered me? I just made out with you in my truck.”
“Well,” I began, slightly embarrassed.
Dylan chuckled under his breath, then moved away from me, gathering blankets and pillows while making up a bed on the couch.
“I can go home.”
“Not tonight.”
I opened my mouth to call his bluff but the look on his face silenced me. He really cared and there was no way I was going to mess with that.
“That guy could have hurt you.”
I laughed, uncomfortable with the damp smother of infatuation that was suffocating me. “I can run pretty fast.”
He smiled again. “I hope so.”
A moment passed in silence, both of us unsure how to label what we were and why I was staying overnight but sleeping downstairs.
“I’ll be gone before you get up.” He came closer and touched the side of my face in the way an artist might move his subject to better light. “The keys to the Jeep will be on the table.”
“Wow, Dylan- you don’t have to—”
“Yes, I do.”
I smiled my thanks, trying hard not to question his motives, wanting to sink into the startling possibility that he might have a desire to watch over me.
“Justine,” his thumb worked my jawbone. “I’m sorry again about what happened in the truck.”
“Oh,” I felt the wind leave my lungs like the huff of a bellows, followed shortly by a flash of heat that radiated up my face. “Don’t be. I just thought—”
“You were right. I like you too much to have it happen that way.”
My stomach did a little flip-flop and landed on two feet. What if I really fell for this guy and he took off like Dad. How could I deal with that?
Maybe I was the one who needed to let go. Fall backwards into the water and trust that something bigger than myself would pull me to the surface in one piece.
I smiled, drew his face to mine, kissed his lips in the soft way he had only an hour before. The next instant his arms were around my back, pulling me against him and I thought how wonderful he felt, how naturally our bodies fit and if I was just imagining it because I wanted it so badly.
“You’re torturing me,” he whispered against my mouth as his tongue traced my bottom lip.
“Same here,” I said. “Now go to sleep before I ask you to keep me company downstairs.”
“Justine—”
“Sleep tight,” I pulled away while sprawling out on the nest he’d made for me on the couch.
“Thanks anyway,” he grinned while moving towards the stairs. “But I don’t think I will.”
Chapter Eleven
It was early morning when I dreamt of the silver canoe.
Standing where the willows kissed their mirror image, I called Dad’s name. It took a moment before he appeared on the shore, his hair long and golden, his hands gripping the low branch to keep from floating away.
“Do you remember when you cut your knee?”
I’d cut my knee dozens of times in the course of my rough and rowdy childhood, but I knew what Dad was talking about.
When I was ten we had decided to climb to the top of an old grain silo. Mom had disapproved but Dad was eager, impatient even, to see the view from the top. Halfway up the side, I’d sliced my left kneecap on a rusty nail.
The blood had come quickly over my panicked screams as Dad carried me home,
repentance on his face while Mom rushed me to the doctor for a tetanus shot.
“I remember,” I said, feeling a slight tug on the blanket that covered me, the blanket that connected me to the fixed world in which I normally lived. Unable to pull myself from my hard-earned slumber, I turned over and dreamed on.
“I was afraid when the cut didn’t heal.”
“Why?” I asked, wandering ahead, watching moonlight stitch one side of the river to the other. Imagining a faun or satyr watching from a clearing of the wood. Shakespeare’s fairies waiting to flee.
“It meant you would keep the scar.”
I felt my fear rise like the river as the water reached up to cradle the canoe, pulling it away from shore. “Stay close to your brother.”
“Dad—” I put a hand out, the sound of the falls drowning his voice.
“You’re stronger together.”
I sat up suddenly, his words ringing in my ears and fumbled from beneath the blanket. Morning streamed through the eastern windows while I tried to get my bearings.
Shaking my hair out from the ponytail that had imprisoned it, I ran a hand through the tangled mess. Looking around, I stretched and yawned, my blurry eyes finally coming into focus.
Big room. Comfy couch. No Dylan.
But he’d left a note on the nearby table and my cell phone charging next to it.
J—Didn’t want to wake you. Keys are on the counter. I’ll be home at six.
I smiled again. The note was brief and concise—like Dylan himself—but with so much lying just beneath the surface. Didn’t want to wake you. Considerate of my needs. Keys are on the counter. Generous to a fault. I’ll be home at six. Calling this place “home” even though I had my own cushy digs.
That last one had my mind spinning when my cell phone sprang to life.
I made a mad dash before answering with a timid, “Hello?”
“What’s the big idea leaving a message like that and then dropping off the side of the mitten! I called your cell, like, fifty-seven times!”
I rolled my eyes while wandering to the kitchen to pour myself a cup of coffee. “I stayed with Dylan last night.”
“I figured.” She huffed as though in awe of my magnificent fortune. “And I can’t friggin’ believe you scored him. Jen’s been trying for months. I’ve been trying since eighth grade.”
“Holl—”
“It’s like a third chair clarinet getting into the Philharmonic.”
I frowned into the phone. “I get it.”
Ever the pragmatist, she changed the subject. “You coming home today? Dave called Dylan and he said a cop checked the place out and didn’t find anything. I swear I locked the door when I left.”
“You swear a lot of things, Holl.”
“Maybe I didn’t pull it shut all the way. I was kind of in a hurry.”
“Check next time.”
“Ooo,” she giggled. “Did Dylan give you crap about it? Did he get out the cuffs?”
I smiled. Having located a mug with a picture of a moose smoking a cigar on the side, I poured myself a cup. “None of your damn business.”
“You’re not coming home?”
I looked at Dylan’s note.
“Would you?”
She giggled again and hung up.
Coffee cup and cell phone in hand, I turned to examine my surroundings. Being alone in Dylan’s house held so many interesting possibilities, not the least of which involved a little snooping. The angel on my right shoulder told me that honesty was always the best policy where new relationships were concerned, and for a while, she won out when I flipped on the TV and stumbled across a documentary featuring the six wives of King Henry the Eighth.
Two beheadings later, I was starting to rethink my strategy. The devil on my left shoulder told me it was only natural to want to know something about the guy I lusted after, the guy who had practically saved my life two nights in a row.
I stood and went upstairs, intent on raiding his closet for some comfy clothes to lounge around in, and found myself staring at the framed pictures on his bedside bureau. One 5x7 featured a couple who were probably members in good standing at the Presque Isle Country Club.
His parents?
Anxiety nibbled at my nerves. What would people like this make of a barmaid who scrubbed toilets on the weekend? A college graduate who had never quite kicked off her career? Would they dismiss me as they had so many others while waiting for the moment he came to his senses and married the debutante next door?
My jitters moved me down the line to a small 4x6 of the girl I’d smacked him across the face over. Another picture of the entire family at a ski resort finally convinced me the sister existed in the format he’d described.
That done, I spared a glance at the bed.
It was large—with a manly comforter that held tints of brown and black and gold. I imagined him sleeping in it, imagined myself curled up beside him and had to try it out. The mattress was firm, the sheets soft and the pillows delectably indented with the shape of his head.
Rolling over, I breathed deeply, smelling the scent I’d come to recognize.
Yes…it could definitely happen here.
Ten minutes later I decided it was time to get dressed and perhaps check out the Jeep he’d put on ice for me. But the bed was so inviting, the images of what might be so intoxicating, that I couldn’t leave. Trailing my hand along the side of the mattress, I felt my fingertips brush against a piece of paper.
My first thought was that he’d forgotten to remove the tags and so I gave it a tug.
A letter. Or more appropriately…a hidden letter. That I wasn’t supposed to read. Another swipe beneath the mattress and I drew out a picture. It was a candid shot of a petite blonde laughing on the beach, the sun against her back, the wind blowing a stray piece of hair over her face.
The angel on my right shoulder told me that only a fool who wanted her heart broken would go farther.
The devil just wanted the dirt.
Thanks for not waking me.
Oh, crap…
Having you beside me all night was the closest I’ve been to happy in a very long time.
I put the letter aside, my heart fluttering away like a caffeinated hummingbird. I shouldn’t be reading this. He’d hidden it for a reason. The reason being it was meaningful and he didn’t want anyone to see it.
Jamie asked me about you the other day and I couldn’t lie.
I stopped again. Went back for more like an addict with a new stash.
I can’t go through with a wedding when all I think about is you. Please tell me you feel the same and that last night meant as much to you as it did to me.
My stomach felt queasy as the coffee I’d drank came back into my throat.
He’s taking me out for dinner but I’ll call you when I get home. Promise. Love, Karen
And like a schoolgirl with an eye for posterity, she’d scribbled the date in the upper right-hand corner.
The day before yesterday.
I quickly folded the letter and stuffed it back in place, jealousy unlike anything I’d ever experienced turning my guts to jelly.
I didn’t want to wake you… Had he left a love note for her as well? Telling her she was too beautiful to wake? Asking her to please wait for him? That he’d leave the keys to the Jeep on the table?
She was like a sister… If he was into that sort of thing.
I scowled, tried to talk myself into a better mood, tried to tell myself he hadn’t done anything wrong by keeping the letter, by loving her. It wasn’t like he’d cheated on me.
More like he’d cheated on her.
Yes, I definitely needed to protect myself from the guy who was probably seeing his dead lover every time he looked at me.
I was just about to curse and break something when my cell phone rang again.
“Yeah?” I answered with uncharacteristic brevity.
“Hey,” Dylan’s voice was thick with oblivious affection. “How’d yo
u sleep?”
“Great. Thanks for not waking me.”
He paused. “Did you get my note?”
“Oh, yeah,” I laughed. “That was great. Really super.”
He seemed to sense something was off. “Sure you’re all right?”
I put a hand to my forehead, my stomach rolling when I thought of what she’d written—how much she obviously loved him. I thought of the crumpled black car and how she’d died with her eyes open, perhaps remembering his face in the last moments.
Drawing a nonexistent breath, I asked, “Do I remind you of someone?”
He was silent for a moment, obviously trying to formulate the best way around my very pointed question. “Did Stoddard say something about that?”
“Just answer my question.”
“Did you find the note?” he asked, cutting to the chase and I felt ashamed to admit I’d been snooping.
“Yes.”
“I know what you’re thinking and it has nothing to do with how I feel about you.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“You shouldn’t.”
I scrunched up my brow. “I don’t even know you, Dylan.”
“Yes, you do,” he said, pausing, and I could sense his discomfort. “There’s a lot I want to tell you, but I don’t want to do it over the phone. Do you work tonight? Can you come back after?”
“Mallard said he might need me.”
He sighed, “I’m not sure what’s worse, a burglar or Butt-head Brauski. I can’t tell you how many times we’ve hauled him in to sleep it off.”
I smiled at the image of Mallard curled up in the drunk tank, jean shorts and all.
“And don’t get on the wrong side of his old lady. She’s got bigger arms than he does. More facial hair, too.”
His plot to lift my spirits worked. I laughed outright, Karen and the letter temporarily forgotten.
“I’ll see you tonight,” I offered.
“I’ll be there,” he finished.
After hanging up, I began a tentative plan for the rest of my day, which included clothing myself in something of Dylan’s and lounging around his house until my shift at Huff’s began.