Rowan Revived

by Colbert, Taylor Danae

  “You gonna get any painting done,” he says, “or ya just gonna keep lookin’ up here?”

  I feel the heat rush to my cheeks, knowing instantly that they’re pink. Caught me.

  “I can’t help it. Your stroke is all wrong,” I say, trying to salvage my dignity by sounding as nonchalant as possible in my teasing. He glances down at me, then slowly climbs down the ladder, never taking his eyes of me. I swallow and turn back to the house. I’m not fazed. Nope. Not one little bit.

  He dips his roller down into the tray, rolling it back and forth, back and forth, and I can see out of the corner of my eyes that his are still on me.

  Before I know it, he’s taken two giant steps toward me, holding the dripping roller dangerously close to my head. He reaches down with his free hand and grabs my wrist, spinning me around so that my back is now against the house, inches from the wet paint.

  “Hey!” I say, becoming exceedingly aware of how close our bodies are. He’s pinned one arm above my head, and is holding the roller above me.

  “What was that you were saying about my stroke?” he asks. He tauntingly inches the roller closer and closer to me until it’s nearly touching my face. I burst into uncontrollable laughter as a smile spreads across his round lips and he drops the roller to his side.

  “I was saying,” I go on, pushing myself off the house and very much into his personal space, “that your stroke is all wrong.”

  He draws in a long breath and takes one step closer to me, our chests inches from each other.

  “What do you know about my stroke?” he asks, his voice low, and a little less playful. I swallow and feel my eyebrows jump involuntarily.

  “Apparently not enough,” I say, my voice just above a whisper. Now his eyebrows jump as he slowly lowers the roller to the ground. He steps closer, and I can feel his heart beating in his chest. It’s beating almost as fast as mine. I can feel something big. Something big’s about to happen between us, and my stomach is swirling with beautiful anticipation. He’s gazing down at me, and just as the air between us is getting warmer, we hear the front door slam open against the house.

  “Aunt Lee, wanna play frisbee?” Caleb’s calling, hopping down the front porch and making his way around the side of the house.

  My heart drops to the ground as Jesse takes three giant steps back from me, bending back down to reload his roller once more. I let out a long sigh, the steamy, altogether inappropriate vision I just had in my head totally dissolving into the wind.

  “Hey, bud,” I say. “Good morning. Jesse and I have some work on the house today, but I’ll come around the front and play with you in a little bit. Sound good?” I ask.

  “Coby could use some exercise,” Jesse says. “Wanna play with him instead?”

  Caleb nods his head wildly as Jesse whistles. Coby appears instantly from the back of the house, panting and bouncing wildly, just like I had been moments away from doing just seconds ago. The two disappear as they run back to the front of the house, and Jesse and I exchange a look before getting back to our painting. It seems the moment has gone.

  After another hour or so, when we’ve almost finished this side of the house, and I stand back to look at our work. Once we’ve put the shutters back up, this side will be just about in selling shape. And I’m damn proud of it. We’ve been working our asses off these past few weeks, and it’s finally starting to show.

  “Wow,” Jesse says when he’s back on the ground. “We’re kickin’ ass.” I smile.

  “We are,” I say, leaning on my hip to gaze up at the house. It really is beautiful. On top of the sheer size of the inn, the view, the land around it, everything about it exudes charm. My heart aches for its earlier days, the days when it hosted weddings, harbored honeymooners, and opened its doors for all the others just looking for a little bit of solitude. Like us.

  I turn to Jesse slowly.

  “How much work do you think the barn needs?” I ask. He raises an eyebrow at me.

  “The barn? I mean, not much. It’s just a barn. Why?”

  “Well, I was thinking it might be nice to spruce up the inside of the house a bit,” I say. “But I know we need some...uh...funds before we take on any more projects.”

  He just stares at me quizzically.

  “What do you think about having some sort of...event? Some sort of fundraiser, right here, in the barn?”

  He still doesn’t say anything, just reaches back to scratch his head.

  “I was thinking like a concert, or a dance of some sort. Maybe we charge admission, see how it goes? We don’t have much to lose, and if we make enough, we could give this place the full facelift it really needs.”

  I see the wheels turning in his head, but there’s still doubt in his eyes.

  “A dance?” he asks. I nod.

  “We could have some food, drinks, maybe find a local band—” I say, but stop myself. His eyes dart to mine. “Not Rob’s,” I quickly add. He nods slowly.

  “I...I dunno,” he finally answers, glancing over at the barn. “I don’t know if people would come.”

  I take a few steps closer to him.

  “Jesse, I’ve seen the way the people in this town love you and your family. People would come.”

  I can tell he’s taking the bait. I can tell he’s intrigued, but he’s afraid.

  “I’ll plan the whole thing. I really think this could be fun,” I reassure him.

  “Let me think about it,” he says, his eyes trailing back over to the house. I nod. That’ll do for now. We stand in silence for a few minutes, surveying all the work we’ve put into the inn. Then I turn to him again slowly.

  “Ever think about getting this place up and running again? You know, instead of selling it?” I ask him. His eyes drop to the ground, but he doesn’t turn to me.

  “Nope,” he says, kneeling down to pick up a can of paint, and heading toward the back of the house.

  “Why not?”

  “‘Cause I don’t want to,” he says, matter-of-factly. I know he’s done with this conversation. We’ve been here before. But I’m not finished.

  “I just think we’re doing so much. It’s looking so good. I think this place could really—”

  “It’s not gonna happen. The Rowan Inn is closed for good,” he says, dropping the can to the ground with more force than necessary. He pries it open and dumps some into the tray, then starts painting the backside of the house with angry, pressured strokes.

  “But—”

  “I said no!” he cuts me off, louder than I was expecting. So loud it actually makes me jump. We stand in silence for a moment, my chest heaving.

  I give us each a minute to recoup before I step directly into his line of sight, forcing him to stop angry painting.

  “Just because you’re afraid of letting this place crash and burn ...again...doesn’t mean you have to be a complete ass to someone who’s trying to help you,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

  “Trying to help me?” he asks. “You’re joking, right?” I raise an eyebrow at him.

  “No. I’m not joking. It’s not my name on that sign out there, it’s yours,” I say. He scoffs.

  “Please. You’re just trying to figure out where you’ll live after this place sells. You’ll do anything to keep it from going on the market,” he says. I feel a pound to my chest. He’s not 100% wrong. But he’s 100% a dick.

  “I’m not the only one afraid of this place selling,” I push back, my voice getting louder. “You have no fucking idea what you’re going to do with yourself when this place goes, and you know it. You have no idea how to live a life that hasn’t been designed for you by your parents!” His eyes trail across the ground, then up to me slowly. I realize that I’ve stepped closer to him so that our chests are inches apart, once again. Only this time, the air between us is thick and cold. He’s glaring down at me, his chest moving up and down with such ferocity, I think for a moment it might actually explode.

  “You have no idea what the fuck yo
u’re talking about,” he says, his voice loud and gruff. “Did you ever think that maybe I have tried? And that it didn’t work? You don’t know anything about me, or my family, or this inn. Leave it alone. ”

  I can’t remember the last time I’ve been so mad. And also a little bit ashamed, because he did sort of put me in my place. But mostly, so fucking pissed off. The heat in my body is rising to the surface, and I think I actually see a shimmer of fear in his eyes as he notices the physical effects my anger is having on my body. But just as I’m about to lose it, to fully go for it, to bite his fucking head off, we hear a soft cry.

  Our heads whip toward the front of the house, where Caleb is peeking out from the side. Tears are streaming down his face, his knuckles white from clenching the side of the house so hard.

  “Please just don’t hurt her, okay, Jesse?” he whimpers, his voice broken and shaky. My heart shatters completely in my chest, my face dropping when I see him. I flick my eyes to Jesse for a moment, in total shame, then run to Caleb. I wipe his tears and hold him close to me.

  “Oh, baby, no,” I whisper to him. “We were just talking, okay? No one is hurting anybody else.”

  Not physically, anyway.

  I take his hand and usher him back around to the front of the house, never once looking back.

  17

  Jesse

  I drop all the painting shit and stomp back to the barn. I slam the doors behind me and begin pacing.

  I feel like a fucking monster.

  I mean, what I said was partially true. She didn’t know my family, she doesn’t know much about how this place was run. But there’s one thing I said that wasn’t true—that she doesn’t know me.

  She does know me. She’s been around a while now, but even early on I realized she’s also one of those people that just always digs down deep until she understands another person. And she’s done that with me. She wants to know so much. I just haven’t let her. And despite that, she figured out a lot more than I wanted her to.

  But the kid.

  He was terrified of me. I knew their situation was rocky, but I had no idea how bad. To see him cowering, crying, practically breaking a sweat in fear that his aunt was going to be hurt. By me. I feel sick to my stomach. I’m still angry. But I’m also really, really fucking sad. I’d never lay a hand on a woman—in fact, it takes a lot for me to lay a hand on another dude.

  I’d never hurt a woman. Especially not her.

  I storm back out of the barn and get in my truck, speeding off in the direction of the Shell.

  I barely put Ruby in park before I hop out, stomping into the bar like some sort of animal. Berta looks up at me as she’s drying glasses, her eyebrows knit together. She can smell my bad moods from a mile in a way.

  “What’s got your boxers in a bunch?” she asks. I don’t answer her, I just kick one of the barstools out before slamming myself down onto it.

  “I need a beer,” I grumble. She puts the glass down and perches a hand on her hip.

  “First of all,” she says, “I don’t know who you think you’re talking to, but you know damn well you ain’t gettin’ nothin’ from me askin’ that way.” I feel my face unscrew as I become more aware of my childish behavior. I let out a long sigh. “Second of all,” she says, “start talking.”

  I let out another sigh before I flick my eyes up to her. I don’t have to apologize to her, even though I should. She knows I’m saying sorry without actually saying it.

  “Can I please have a beer?” I ask. She smiles before popping the top off a bottle and sliding it down to me.

  “Lena and me, we were arguing outside,” I start to say, after a long, drawn-out swig of my beer. Berta hasn’t taken her hand off her hip. She’s just staring at me. I go on. “Just about the inn and—”

  “What about it?”

  “She started saying something about a fundraiser. She wants to have this dance thing at the barn to raise a little more money for renos,” I say. Berta’s eyebrows shoot up and she nods in approval. “But then she started on about how she really thinks the inn could make a comeback.”

  Berta’s eyebrows stay risen.

  “She’s right,” she says. I feel that anger swirling in my belly again. Only, it’s not really anger. It’s actually fear and anxiety.

  “Berta, please...you know I can’t do this on my own. And that’s beside the point.”

  “Well, maybe doing it on your own would be tough. But that girl seems like she’d make a good teammate.”

  Now I have my eyebrows raised.

  “Berta, come on.”

  “Okay, okay, alright. I’m just saying, she’s not all the way wrong. But continue.”

  “Well, anyway, we were sort of in the heat of it. We were raising our voices, and the kid heard us.”

  She nods slowly.

  “Berta, he started crying. He thought I was gonna hurt her.”

  When I say the words out loud, it hits my gut even harder. The thought that someone, especially a kid, could ever think that of me, be scared of me, is still making me sick. I start bouncing my knee nervously.

  Berta drops her towel on the bar and takes a seat on the counter.

  “Damn,” she says. “The kid’s dad?”

  I nod.

  “I don’t know the whole story. But I know that for him to be that scared of me, it had to be bad.”

  Berta whistles, her eyes floating up to the ceiling.

  “That shit is tough, Jess. I won’t lie. That kid might have issues with that kind of stuff for a while. But the good news is he’s still young. It’s a cycle that can be broken. Especially,” she says, reaching out a hand to my shoulder, “if he’s around the right examples. Men who show him how to treat women. How to treat people in general.”

  I nod slowly, swirling my bottle around.

  “I don’t even know what to say to him,” I say. “He was so scared.” Berta pauses for a moment.

  “What would your dad say?” she asks. My eyes jump to hers. If she only knew how many different times I’ve asked myself that over the past year. I nod slowly and finish the last sip of my beer.

  “One more thing,” Berta adds before I turn to leave. “It’s important to talk to the kid. But you might also want to make sure he’s not the only one listening when you do. Those girls probably need to hear what you’re gonna say almost as much as he does.” I nod again, my heart wrenching in my chest.

  “Thanks, Berta.” She nods back.

  Six minutes later, I pull Ruby back into the driveway slowly.

  When I get inside the house, it’s quiet. They’re not in the parlor, not in the kitchen, not in the living room. I think to check upstairs, and as I start to climb the steps, I hear whimpering coming from their room. My heart sinks again, but I know I need to be strong. For him, for her. I lift my hand slowly, take in a breath, then rap my knuckles against their door three times. The room grows silent, then the door opens slowly and I let my long-held breath out. Millie stares back at me. Behind her, Lena sits on the bed, Caleb between her legs holding a book.

  “Hi,” I say, keeping my voice as low and gentle as possible.

  “Hi,” Millie says.

  “Look, uh, can I talk to Caleb for a minute?” I ask. She swallows, looking back to Caleb and Lena. “You can come with us. I just want to explain some things.”

  Millie looks back to Caleb one more time, then reluctantly nods her head.

  “Come on, Cay,” she says, holding her hand out. He looks up to Lena, then slowly climbs down off the bed, reaching for his mom’s hand and clutching it tightly. Lena hasn’t taken her eyes off of me, but I can’t bear to look back at her. Not yet.

  I lead them downstairs and out back. When we reach the patio, I look down to Caleb.

  “Caleb, can I talk to you, man-to-man?” I ask him, reaching out a hand. He looks up at me, then to Millie. She nods at him, and he slowly lets go of her hand to take mine. As we’re walking down toward the water, I can hear the back door open and shut
again, and I know Lena is watching, too. But this, right now, is about Caleb.

  We’ve walked a few yards when I hear Berta’s words ringing in my ear.

  Those girls probably need to hear what you’re gonna say almost as much as he does.

  I stop walking and sit down on the grass, motioning to him to sit down next to me. He does, all the while, looking back to his mother every few moments.

  “So,” I say, embarrassingly nervous for someone who’s talking to a child, “I scared you today, huh?”

  Caleb looks up at me, his big blue eyes wide. He looks just like his mom, but he has his aunt’s eyes. He nods slowly.

  “You saw your dad hurt your mom a lot, huh bud?” I ask. He looks down at the grass, and nods again, slowly.

  “Well, I need you to understand something,” I say. He’s staring right up at me. “No matter how angry I get, I would never, ever hurt your Aunt Lee. Or your mom. Or any lady. Or anybody,” I clarify. He nods slowly, wrapping his little arms around himself. “See, bud, we don’t hurt women—especially the women we love, like our moms and aunts. No matter how mad or sad we get.”

  I can hear sniffling, and I look up to the patio to see Millie wiping her eyes. Lena’s a few feet behind her, her arms wrapped around herself just like Caleb’s. She’s staring down at me, her eyes narrowed. I look back to Caleb and keep going.

  “I’m sorry I scared you,” I tell him.

  “It’s okay,” he says.

  “Sometimes, we get angry. And that’s okay,” I say. “It’s alright to feel mad sometimes. And sometimes we say things we don’t mean.” I look back to Lena now. “When that happens, we should say sorry.”

  She takes in a long breath, her eyes drilling holes right through to my soul.

  “It’s okay to feel a certain way. But it’s never okay to hurt someone. Does that make sense?” I ask him. He nods again. “If I ever make you feel scared or sad again, I want you to tell me. That’s what friends do. Deal?” I ask, holding out a fist. A meek smile appears on his mouth, and he fist-bumps me.