Rowan Revived

by Colbert, Taylor Danae

  Jesse cuts the engine off as he steers the boat into its slip, and reaches out one of his long arms to grab a line and tie us down. Then he hops onto the dock, just as the skies really open up. We’re all scattering about to grab our things, and Jesse’s waiting to help us off. I look up to the shore and my eyes grow wide. I take off down the dock.

  “What is it, Lee?” Millie calls.

  “The shutters! We left them out to dry last night!” I say, running toward the side of the house where the freshly painted shutters are sitting, now streaked from the pouring rain. Jesse and I had spent hours painting them a few days before, after we got them all down. I’m just off the dock when I hear footsteps behind me, and as I bend down to pick up as many as I can carry, I see him out of the corner of my eye, doing the same.

  “We can put them in the barn,” he says, as he carries five of them under each arm. I’m struggling with just two.

  I nod and follow behind him, letting him slide the big doors open. We lean the shutters up against the wall, and let out a sigh of relief. They will have to be touched up, but for the most part, they are still in good shape. As I turn to walk out, the pile slides off the wall, landing on the back of my flip-flop. I stumble, and the ground quickly gets bigger as my face plummets closer and closer to it.

  I’m milliseconds away from scraping the hell out of my knees—a sensation I am quite familiar with—when he wraps his hands around my biceps, snatching me back up to my feet. He nudges the shutters off to free my shoe, and spins me around.

  We’re inches from each other now, and I can smell his aftershave, mixed with the leftover baywater. It’s making me a little dizzy in this dark, dusty barn.

  “You alright?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at me. I blink a few times before I smile.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Thanks.” He smirks.

  “You know, I haven’t known you long, but one thing I have learned is that you’re not

  good on your feet,” he says. I chuckle and nod.

  “It took longer than I would have expected for you to come to that conclusion,” I say. He’s still smirking, his eyes peering down at me as we savor the last moment of being dry before we head back out into the rain. And suddenly, I feel myself longing to stay inside this dusty old barn. With him. For far longer than it takes for a storm to pass.

  His wet hair is falling out of place at the top of his head, and my hand twitches with a desire to push it back and run my fingers through it. But just as I’m contemplating my next move—if there will even be one—we hear a bloodcurdling scream.

  Before I can even react, Jesse brushes past me, bolting out of the barn. I’m following close behind when I see Millie running toward the water. And that’s when I see Caleb’s hands, wailing in choppy waves, a few feet away from the dock.

  My heart stops in my chest.

  Millie’s running as fast as she can, but Jesse surpasses her in moments, hopping onto the dock and diving into the water before she even makes it to the first plank of wood.

  “What happened?” I ask Millie, shouting over the rain, as she gasps hysterically, still running toward the end of the dock.

  “I let go of his hand for a second to pick up our bag,” she says, her voice quivering, “and he took off. He forgot his toys on the boat and ran back to get them, but he slipped off before I could get to him!”

  I take her hand and we stop at the end of the dock, waiting with bated breath. Then Jesse pops up, with a coughing Caleb in his arms. He swims the two of them toward the dock, and pushes Caleb’s little body up out of the water to us. Millie and I each take an arm, and I wrap him in a towel as she cradles him.

  His eyes are closed, but he’s coughing and crying—both good signs.

  “Honey, are you okay? Caleb, baby, can you hear me?” Millie’s asking, as we sit in the pouring rain. I look back into the water, but Jesse is already pulling himself up onto the dock.

  “Caleb?” Millie asks again.

  “Mm-hmm,” he responds, between coughs, squeezing Millie’s hand. “I’m okay, Mommy.”

  Tears keep falling from her eyes as she rocks him.

  “Caleb, baby, you can’t run around the water by yourself. Promise me you won’t do that again.”

  “I promise,” he whimpers, burrowing his face into her chest.

  “Okay. And Mommy promises never to let your hand go, ever again,” Millie says. I see the pain in my sister’s eyes and it breaks my heart. She works so hard to be a good mom, she always has, despite the chaos that was her relationship with Tiger.

  I help Millie stand, and Jesse and I flank either side of her as we walk back down the dock, as if we’re afraid they she and Caleb might both fall in again.

  When we make it to the end, Millie turns to us.

  “Thank you, Jesse. I’m sorry about that,” she says. He holds a hand up. Then she looks to me. “I think I’m going to take him into town to get looked at. Just in case.” I nod.

  “Do you want me to come?” I ask. She shakes her head.

  “We will be alright. I’m just a little paranoid,” she says with a sad smile. I touch her arm and nod.

  “Call me if you need me,” I say.

  The rain has slowed some, and we stand in the gravel as they get in the car and pull away. I turn to Jesse.

  “Thank you,” I say, staring up at him, the seriousness of the situation hitting me suddenly, like a giant wave. My eyes fall to the ground. “That could have been really bad.” I feel my heart pound in my chest, and I’m unable to shake the sight of Caleb’s little hands flailing about in the water.

  I feel Jesse’s hand lay on my shoulder.

  “I’m sorry about that. I should put a fence up or something,” he says. I wave him off.

  “No, we just need to be more careful with him.”

  “Well, maybe I can teach him how to swim over the next few weeks,” he says, his palm hot against my cold skin. I look up at him again.

  “That would be amazing,” I say, just above a whisper. Slowly, his hand slides off my arm as he reaches it up to scratch the back of his head.

  “I just want you all to feel...safe here,” he says, then his eyes drop to the ground. He steps around me, and heads for the barn. I follow behind him. When we get inside, he immediately walks over to the bar and reaches over the side of it. He opens the minifridge that’s tucked back behind it and grabs two cold beers. I smile.

  “Secret stash?” I ask. He shrugs and smirks as he hands me one. We sit down at one of the tables, and I turn to him.

  “We do,” I say. He looks up at me. “We do feel safe here. The safest we’ve felt in a long, long time.” Then a chuckle escapes my lips. “Maybe the safest we’ve ever felt.” I want to stop myself, but I can’t. I reach across the table, and let my hand rest on his for a moment. I can feel it twitching beneath mine, but he doesn’t move. My heart is beating faster in my chest, and I can feel my breaths quickening. I so badly want to reach across this table and grab that handful of hair I was desperate to touch earlier. I want to pull him onto me, taste the beer on his lips, let his strong arms wrap around me. And as quickly as those thoughts pop into my head, they deflate like a dart to a balloon.

  “Well, good. At least until we sell this place,” he says. Suddenly, I feel a quick snap back to reality.

  Ah, yes. As Mr. Rowan has quickly reminded me, this isn’t some permanent vacation. This is coming to an end. And soon. We will be out of here soon enough, and Jesse will be somewhere far, far away. It’ll be sad enough to leave this place, but the thought of leaving him is doing terrible things for my anxiety right now. I look down at my half-finished bottle and nod. I stand, my hand still on his.

  “Yeah, of course. I guess time’s almost up,” I say. I turn to walk away, but just as I begin to lift my hand, I feel his thumb reach up and stroke it. I turn back to him slowly.

  “I’m glad you guys found us. The inn, I mean,” he says, his deep voice just above a whisper. There goes my damn heart rate again. It’s re
ally unfair. A sad smile spreads over my lips.

  “So am I,” I say, before turning and walking out of the barn.

  More than you know, Mr. Rowan. More than you know.

  15

  Jesse

  The rain has stopped, but clouds still swirl around inside my head. She wanted something from me today in this stupid barn. She wanted me to touch her, hold her, maybe kiss her. She wanted something more, and I wanted it, too. So fucking bad.

  But as I was picturing myself pulling her onto that table and ripping the cover-up off of her, tugging on those teeny little bikini straps, I was hit with a bolt of reality.

  She’s leaving. She’s leaving the inn, she’s leaving me. And soon. And so am I. I’m leaving, too, no matter how hard it will be. It doesn’t matter that I haven’t been able to sit down long enough to make a solid plan. I’m leaving. I have to. We will go our separate ways, and she’ll forget about the few months she spent on the Chesapeake. She’ll forget about me.

  And even though I know I could do things to her body that would be awfully hard for her to forget, I’m worried I won’t be able to forget it, either. That’s what scares me the most.

  I go outside once the sun starts peeking back out to work on my truck some. I need to change the oil, wax her down. Old Ruby’s my main girl. She’ll never leave me.

  Just as I’m about to pop the hood, I feel my phone ring in my jean pocket.

  “Hi, Jo,” I say, trying not to let my voice drip with the disappointment and disdain I feel every time my sister’s name flashes on my screen. It’s not that I don’t love my sister. In all honesty, she’s the best friend I’ve ever had. The four of us, the Rowans, we were a tight-knit group. We were the toughest on each other, but also a force to be reckoned with when we worked together, on anything.

  When I was fifteen, Hurricane Edna swept through Baycrest. She was a quick-moving storm, one that we weren’t fully prepared for. We were supposed to be hosting a wedding that day at the inn, a big one. The wedding party bailed, of course, but the big white tent had already been staked into the ground. Docks were floating down the bay, houses and boats were destroyed. And as the worst was hitting us, my dad took off out the back door. We followed behind and watched as he wrapped himself around one of the poles of the tent, trying desperately to hold the gigantic tent steady, keep it from hitting the house.

  Without hesitation, my mom, sister and I took off after him, each grabbing a pole and bearing down. Dad hollered at all of us to get back inside, but I’m sure he knew deep down we weren’t going anywhere.

  We managed to carry that thing a hundred yards down the shore in seventy mile-per-hour winds, just the four of us. It got destroyed, but it never even came close to the house.

  That was the day that we became “The Fource.” Dad always said the four of us could do anything together. Until he died, I didn’t think he was wrong. But now, with just Josie and I, things aren’t as strong. There is no “Fource,” it’s just the two of us. And we can’t move a tent by ourselves.

  “Hey,” she says. I can hear her heels clicking across the D.C. pavement as she walks. “I’m getting ready to go into court. But I wanted to check in and see how the renovations are coming along.”

  I roll my eyes. She can’t resist being in control. Just like Mom. And like someone else I know. Someone small and strong, and maybe a little bit broken.

  “They’re fine. Lena and I have actually gotten a lot done. Got the shutters all painted, although they got caught up in this rain, so we will have to touch those up. Washed all the windows, finished the porch steps and the dock. Gonna work on power washing the house this week, and working on the front and back beds,” I tell her.

  “Wow,” she says, and I can tell it’s genuine. She’s actually impressed. Or maybe just surprised. “You guys have been workin’ hard. Have you been nice to her?”

  I smile.

  “Yeah. We’re fine. She’s actually...she’s pretty cool,” I say, scratching the back of my head as I picture her, in that tiny black bikini, staring down at me in the water.

  “Hmm,” Josie says, and the daydream quickly evaporates.

  “‘Hmm’ what?” I ask.

  “Nothing. I just wasn’t expecting this,” she says.

  “Expecting what?”

  “That you’d end up liking her,” Josie says, so matter-of-factly that it makes me grind my teeth.

  “I don’t like her. Jesus, what are you, twelve?” I ask, hoping the irritation in my voice will cover up the concern. Concern that she might actually be right.

  “Jess, I don’t care how many miles apart we are. You ain’t gonna lie to me, kid,” Josie says. “I like her, too, ya know.” I raise my eyebrows. My sister is not one to play nice with others, particularly other women. Particularly other women who show any kind of interest in her little brother. Bringing home girls as a teenager was a nightmare, and it had nothing to do with my parents, and everything to do with Josie. Don’t even get her started on Amber; Josie’s eyes seem to be permanently rolling whenever they are in the same vicinity.

  “You do? That’s a first,” I say. “But I didn’t say I liked her. I said she was cool.”

  “Yeah, well. Your head’s been up your ass since mom and dad died,” Josie says. Her words straighten my spine. “You can’t focus on anything, you’re...you’re lost, Jess. This is the first time I’ve heard you so much as speak about a girl since they died. I love that. I love that you have some people around. Just...just be careful,” she says.

  “Be careful of what?” I ask, her words hitting me like a ton of bricks.

  “She’s leaving soon, Jess. Don’t get caught up, okay?” she says. “I can’t bear for you to have another heartbreak, when you’re there all alone.”

  I know she’s just being a big sister, but her pity makes me ill.

  “I’m fine, Josiane,” I say, sternness in my voice. I need her to know that no girl, not even Lena, has that kind of power. I need to remind myself of that, too.

  “Okay, little brother. Whatever you say. But you know I’m right,” she says. “Anyways, before I go, I just wanted to let you know that I might have someone interested in the inn.”

  “You...you what? Jesus, Jo, you couldn’t start with that?” I ask.

  “Well, I don’t always get to chat with you. Had to make sure I covered all the bases. So anyway, this guy here at the firm, his grandfather just passed and left him a huh-yuge inheritance. Like, way more than mom and dad could have ever dreamt of leaving us. They are looking to invest, and they want to get into hospitality. I told him about the inn, and he’s really, really interested. He will be traveling for work over the next few weeks, but I told him the inn would be in top-shape within a month.”

  “A month?” I ask, exasperated. Suddenly I feel the dead weight of panic crushing my chest.

  “Well, yeah. Isn’t that when your little deal is up, anyway? Aren’t they leaving in a month?” she asks.

  I stare out of the window of the barn at Lena tossing a frisbee across the lawn, Coby and Caleb both chasing it. She’s smiling, laughing, catching the little boy in her arms and smothering him in kisses.

  Damn.

  One month.

  One month left, and then she’s gone.

  “Yeah, yeah. One month,” I say.

  “Okay, cool. I’ll call you later this week with more details. Gotta go,” she says.

  “See ya.”

  I hit “end” and lean up against the window, just watching them play. The way she cares for her sister, the way she looks at Caleb like her own, it eases some of the crushing weight that’s parked itself on my windpipe.

  Suddenly, she looks up, and our eyes catch. Normally, I’d step back, duck out of sight like she’s done each time I’ve caught her looking out at me. But I don’t want to. Not this time. I want her to catch me watching them. Watching her. I want her to know I’m looking. I want her to know that I know just how much time we have left together, how fast it’s slipping
away. I want her to know that I need to do something about it. I just don’t know what.

  16

  Lena

  I woke up this morning with a knot in my belly, and for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why. It wasn’t until breakfast, when I caught a glimpse of the Baycrest Journal on the counter, the date on its corner staring me straight in the face, that I realized why.

  One month. Jesse and I have one month left of these renovations, these little projects, this dependable time together. And then he leaves, we leave, and I have to figure out a whole new life for the three of us—a life without him.

  I haven’t turned on my phone in over a month, either, and I have to say, it’s been pretty freeing. To be totally closed off from Boston, from the nightmare of a life that made us, and the nightmare of a life that we landed in there. In the short time I’ve been here, I’ve become a little more carefree; a lighter version of myself than I’ve ever been.

  As I stare down at the adorable little hometown paper, reading about the Millers’ fruit stand, I hear the clanking of metal outside. I lean toward the window and lay my eyes on him. He’s carrying three cans of paint in one hand, and a few paint brushes and rollers in the other, as he treks from the barn to the side of the house. When he sets them down, our eyes meet through the window, and I can’t stop my lips from responding in with a slow, sweet smile. Seeing him first thing in the morning is better than a cup of coffee, or two. Those bay-colored eyes, that hair shining in the earliest rays of the day. I can’t look away. And to my surprise, he’s smiling back, nodding his head good morning. I throw back the last sip of coffee in my mug and head out the parlor door toward him.

  “Paint day,” I say. He nods.

  “Paint day.”

  We each dump a gallon of paint into a fresh tray and start rolling. We paint in silence for a while, him up high on the ladder, and me, of course, down low on the ground where I’m safe. I smile at how simple it all is, the two of us, out here painting away in the early morning light, the breeze keeping us cool, and my thoughts of him warming me from the inside out. Every chance I get, I steal a peek at him, the muscles and veins in his arms protruding with every wide stroke he makes.