Destiny Ever-Changing

by Ivey , Tasha

  "Nana, this room is amazing!"

  "I told you that I fixed it up! Did you see the balcony on the back? It has its own set of stairs, so you can walk down to the beach anytime you like, without having to go through the garage."

  "I don't know what to say! Why haven't you made this your bedroom? It would be perfect!"

  "I like my bedroom just fine," she answers. "Anyway, I couldn't get up and down these stairs all day long. It just makes me happy to know that I have a nice place for someone to stay when they visit."

  "I may never leave," I joke.

  She hugs me. "I may never let you, either!"

  Nana walks to the closet and opens the door. "Darn, I thought the extra quilts and pillows were in this closet. I guess I never got around to getting it all back down out of the attic to bring over here. I'll have to try to get up there and see if I can find them."

  "No way! I'll go up and get them myself. Just show me the way."

  We walk back over to the house, and she shows me the door that leads to the attic. I don't ever remember going up there as a child, and I find out why when I make it up the steep stairs. There is hardly any walking room up here. It's packed with boxes, furniture, stacks of magazines, plastic bins, and a multitude of things that are so dust-covered that I can't tell what they are. She said the extra quilts, sheets, and pillows were in a big plastic tub, so I begin opening each onewithout having much luck.

  I turn toward the door to ask Nana if she is certain that they are up here, and I notice another plastic bin on a wide shelf. There isn't any dust on it, so I can tell it hasn't been up here long. I have to squeeze between an old armoire and the wall to get to it. I pull the heavy tub off of the shelf and open the lid. I have finally found the right tub, but I am unsure how I am going to get the large bin out through that tight space; it's too heavy to pick up very high. There is a dusty, old desk with a large enough opening at the bottom for the bin to fit through, so I shove it through the hole and go back over to squeeze past the armoire again.

  As I walk over to pick up the tub, I notice a small box in front of the bin. I must have pushed it out from under the desk when I shoved the bin through. I pick the box up to return it to its place, but I notice the name "Regina" is written across the front. Curiosity gets the best of me, so after placing the box on top of the desk, I carefully pull the lid off of the top.

  Inside, there are some dried flowers, seashells, a piece of rope tied into a loop, some carnival tickets, a bundle of letters, and a book. The book draws my interest, so I pull it outcareful not to crumble the dried flowers. It's a faded, burgundy leather-bound book with a thin ribbon tied around it to keep it closed. On the front, the word "journal" is inscribed in gold lettering. This must be my mother's journal.

  I put the lid back on the box, and I set it on top of the plastic bin, carefully carrying them back down the attic stairs.

  When I reach the bottom of the stairs, Nana calls me into the kitchen.

  "Did you find it, honey? It's a real mess up there."

  "Yeah," I tell her as I walk into the kitchen, happy to be able to put the tub down for a moment. "That's not all I found."

  "Oh, you found another box of your mother's things. There's no telling what of hers is up there. I packed up everything she left behind when she married your dad. But . . ." She picks up the dusty box, studying the name on it.

  "What?" I ask.

  "Well, this isn't one of the boxes I packed. Her name is written in her handwriting. She must have put it up there, because I don't ever remember seeing this one before."

  She opens the box, peers inside, and smiles. "If you want to know more about your mom's first love, this box will help you more than I can."

  "What is all this stuff?"

  "These are some things that he gave her and the journal I gave her just before they met. I don't know a lot of the particular details, but I know that after he and your mom broke up, I noticed that all of these things were gone. I had assumed that she either threw them all away, burned them, or whatever it is that angry teenagers do when they go through a break up."

  I pick up the long-forgotten journal. "So, she wrote about him in here?"

  "I honestly never read it, but the simple fact that it's in this box, tells me that she did."

  Suddenly, a pang of guilt and shame overcome me. These were my mother's private possessions, and I am looking through them. I immediately put the journal back in the box and put the lid on.

  As I pick it up to take it back to the attic, Nana puts her frail hand on the box. "What are you doing?"

  "I just don't feel right about this. These were her personal things and her secret thoughts. I'm going to put it back where I found it."

  "Laura, just like the locket, I know your mom would have wanted you to have these things. If she were here right now, she would willingly tell you everything in that journal herself. It's a part of who she was, so I think it's essential for you to know what she went through in her life. Really, honey, keep it. You don't have to read it now, but someday you may want to."

  I place the box back on top of the quilt tub. "Okay. If you think so, I'll keep it."

  "I know so," she says, kissing me on the cheek. "Oh, I almost forgot! Here are the keys to the garage apartment."

  "Nana, I'm only going to be here a few days. Why do I need keys?"

  "First of all, I like to keep it locked; there are a lot of odd people up and down that beach. Secondly, I want you to be able to come and go as you choose, without feeling like you're troubling me. Lastly . . ." She pauses and looks at me.

  "What? What's the last thing?"

  "I want you to stay here. Nolive here."

  "I would love to, but I can't impose on you, especially with all of my emotional baggage."

  She grabs hold of both of my hands and squeezes them. "Look, I couldn't take you in when your parents died, because your Grandpa Sam had Parkinson's disease. He required my full attention and care. I finally have the chance to take care of you for a while, even if you are a grown woman, and I could use the company, too. I'm going batty in this big house all by myself. Please, at least consider it."

  As she looks at me, waiting for an answer, I contemplate my options. Whether I go back home or stay here, I'll still have to live with someone until I find a job and save some money. Here, I will have an amazing room and almost as much privacy as I had when I lived on my own. I could just stay for a few months, at leastmaybe until the end of the summer. There are some little shops downtown, so I may be able to find a job to earn some money. At the end of the summer, I'll decide if I want to go back home or not.

  "I can't believe I'm saying this, but . . . okay. I'll stay," I say, immediately wondering if I am doing the right thing.

  She wraps her arms around me so tight that I can hardly breathe. "I'm so glad! It's going to be so nice having you here!"

  "Just make me one promise."

  She finally pulls back from her embrace. "What's that?"

  "Promise me that you'll cancel your plans of fattening me up." I wink.

  "You've got a deal. I'll only bake a cake or cookies every other day."

  All I can do is laugh.

  I pick up the big bin with my mom's box on top, and I trudge back to the garage. I'll certainly get some exercise after walking up and down the stairs to my bedroom several times a day. I get in my room and begin making the bed. I still can't believe I agreed to live here, but I just couldn't say no to her. It's not like I won't be comfortable; this room is incredible.

  I look out the french doors toward the beach, and I realize there's only about an hour until the sun starts to set. If I'm going to go for a walk, I need to do it right now, so I run back over to the house to tell Nana that I'm going for a walk. Maybe living with her won't be so bad, after all. She actually lectures me, because I tell her where I am going.

  Finally, I head toward the water. I was right about the evening being clear; only a few wispy clouds still hover o
verhead. When I get to the sand, I take my shoes off, hide them behind a little bush, and I begin walking down the shoreline. The warm, fine sand feels amazing on my tired feet, and a gentle breeze caresses my exposed skin. The rhythmic sound of the waves is very calming to my soul, and I immediately begin to relax a little. It's the perfect end to a not-so-perfect day.

  As I walk, I think about everything that has been going on in my life, including today. I can't figure out what I'm supposed to do now. Nana said that I had to figure out what I want on my own, but all I can think of is what I don't want. I don't want to keep starting my life over. I don't want a boyfriend that is going to try to change me or cheat on me. I don't want to feel like I'm doing everything wrong.

  Up ahead, I see a young girl walking toward me. As she gets closer, I can see that she is talking on her cell phone, and I can guess that she's talking to her boyfriend by what she is sayingcrying, actually. It appears that I'm not the only heartbroken person on the beach tonight.

  The sun is beginning to set, and it's the most mesmerizing thing I've ever seen. I don't remember sunsets looking like this when I was a little girl, but I guess, at that age, I just didn't care.

  I don't know how long I've been walking or how far. I should probably turn back, since it's already going to be pitch black out here by the time I get home. Luckily, I have one of those handy little flashlights on my key chain, among various other things you need when you live in a city like Baltimore. I look ahead, and I see a set of stairs coming off of the steep bluff. I decide that I'll walk to those stairs, turn around, and head back.

  I'm almost to the stairs when I see that there is something on them. No, it's someone. A pretty drunk someone, if I had to guess. I can see empty beer bottles planted in the sand all around. I can also identify that it's a man, since he's not wearing a shirt. I can't tell if he's asleep, but I feel compelled to make sure he's okay. Clenching my pepper spray on my keychain, I continue to approach the man.

  Once I am near enough to distinguish that he is, in fact, breathing, I realize that I recognize him. He's the gardener that changed my tire, and it looks as if he's passed out cold. I know that I need to hurry and leave before he sees me, but I linger for a just moment to admire him. I didn't look closely at his features earlier today, since I was embarrassed the entire time. He looks much different now with his face relaxed. He must have been swimming, because his khaki shorts are still damp. His dark hair looks mostly dry, but it's a beautiful mess. He also has sand clinging all over his tanned, defined chest and muscular arms. I'd much rather look at him than the sunset.

  Snapping back into the reality of the situation, I decide that I can't let him see me here. I quietly begin to turn to walk back, watching him carefully to see if he moves. Then, I notice his eyes slowly opening, and he looks confused. I instantly come to the realization that he only had his eyes closed and was not quite asleep.

  Just great! He caught me!

  I quickly think of something to say, and he looks up at mewith a half-drunk smile. I can tell by that smile that he remembers me . . . and everything that happened today.

  "Laura?" he says with a sleepy grin.

  He knows my name? "Exactly how do you know who I am?"

  He sits up as if he snaps into reality. "I don't really. I just read it on a box earlier today, so I assumed that was your name. I'm not a psycho stalker, I promise."

  "When you say 'box,' you mean the"

  "Just a box," he quickly interrupts as if to save me from today's embarrassments. "I don't remember which one."

  He's not a good liar, but I am relieved. "Good! Well, actually, I mean, you were right. My name is Laura. Laura Carey, actually."

  He holds his hand out to shake mine and tries to stifle a laugh. "Nice to meet you, Laura Carey, actually. My name is Brooks Tucker, actually."

  I can't help but laughing, even though he is making fun of me. "Okay, I deserved that, actually. I have a tendency to sound like an idiot when I'm around someone I don't know. I'm not what you would call a social butterfly." I still sound like an idiot.

  "And yet you came and found me tonight?" He raises one eyebrow, looking insanely gorgeous.

  "You have the wrong idea. I was just on a nice, long walk, and I could see you lying on these stairsobviously drunkand I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I didn't even know it was you until I was within a few feet of you. In fact, I thought you were asleep, and I was going to leave before you ever saw me. I'm no psycho stalker either."

  "Touché," he says as we both turn toward the sound of a gate opening at the top of the bluff. He quickly grabs my arm and drags me under the stairs with him to hide. I don't understand what is going on, but I'm having a hard time thinking of anything other than how close he is to me. With one arm wrapped tightly around my shoulders, he has me pressed against his side. Tight enough that I feel every breath he takes. Tight enough that a fury of nervousness and attraction explode through my body.

  "What are we doing?" I mouth to him, attempting to overcome my temporary stupor.

  Brooks simply puts his finger over his mouth, looking up at the stairs.

  "Joshua?" a woman yells. "Are you out here?"

  When there is no answer, the woman descends the steps halfway and repeats her inquiry. Again, there is no answer, and the woman huffs and goes back up the stairs. I hear the sound of the gate closing.

  The curiosity is killing me. "What is going on? Who was that, and who is Joshua?"

  "That is Jacqueline Martens. She lives up there."

  "Oh, she's the woman you work for. Which makes Joshua her . . . husband?"

  Brooks begins to fidget. "No, not yet."

  That woman must make him nervous or something. I see an immediate change in his mood and his facial expression as he helps me out from under the stairs. He was calm and almost charming before; now, he is nervous and sullen. His once relaxed face becomes hardened and furrowed. Deep creases are forming just above his brows, and he presses his lips into a tight line.

  "Why were you hiding from her?" His mood change causes my soaring adrenaline to leave me feeling more like a deflated balloon.

  He begins to say something a few times, but he can't seem to form the words. "I just don't want her to know where I am," he finally says with an edge of bitterness in his voice.

  It's obvious to me that he is agitated. I'm not sure what has provoked this behavior from him, but I decide it's time for me to go. "Well, Brooks, it was nice to see you again, and I want to thank you again for today. I have a long walk back home, so I better get started. Maybe we'll see each other around town."

  "I doubt we will, but maybe," he says as he sits and glares at the sand, completely emotionless.

  That was the strangest conversation I've had in a long time. I can't figure out what is going on between him and his employers. Out of nowhere, she shows up, and he turns into cold stone. I almost wonder if there is some sort of love triangle thing going on. His behavior was just so odd, and he became so indifferent. He could have at least offered to walk me home; it's an awful long way to walk without much light.

  After what seems like forever, I finally make it home. Fumbling with the keys, I finally get the door open and flick the light on. I take a quick shower to wash away what feels like five pounds of sand, and I get ready for bed. When I walk over to the balcony doors to close the curtains, I think I see movement on the beach, but when I take a second look, I don't see anything. I assume going two days without sleep can do that to a person. I really need some sleep.

  I wake up to a faint orange glow in the room. Nearly forgetting where I am, I get up and start surveying the room. Walking out onto the balcony, I see that the sun is beginning to rise, so I walk down the stairs and head toward the sand. I love to sit on the beach and watch the sun make its glorious escalation into the sky.

  I find the perfect spot to sit and observe my surroundings. The aquamarine sky is gradually filling with bright rays of ginger radiance, and the wa
ter looks as if glitter is spilling out of the sun into the waves. There is a steady breeze blowingjust enough that I have to hold my silk robe down onto my legs. I can still see my footprints in the moist sand trailing off to the right from my walk last night, but . . .

  I get up and walk over to the prints. There should be two sets of footprints here: one set from when I left last night and one where I came back. Instead, there are four. The other two appear larger than my feet, and they stop right at the clearing that leads to the house and go back in the direction they came from. It wasn't my imagination. I saw someone on the beach last night.

  Chapter Six — The Puppet Master

  Brooks:

  I watch Laura walk away into the darkness, and I feel terrible about my mood toward her. None of this is her fault, and I don't want to bring her into my world of problems. I know my demeanor changed after Jacqueline showed up, but it was like a wakeup call to me. I had almost forgotten everything that I had been depressed about after I had a few beers and Laura showed up. I was shocked to see her here; I didn't think I would ever see her again.

  We didn't have time to talk much before Jacqueline showed up, but just in those few short moments, she made me feel like a real man again. I have been having this strange dream every night about waking up with puppet strings attached to my hands and feet, and when I look up to see where the strings lead, I see that my father is the puppet master. He laughs eerily and begins working the strings, and I suddenly realize that I am being led down the aisle at a church. As I look to the front of the church, I see my bride pointing at me and laughing insultingly. When I reach the altar and lift her veil, I see Carl Martens' face instead of Jacqueline's, and that sight always wakes me up.

  Being with Laura for just those few minutes made me forget all of that for a little while. I felt an urge to talk to an attractive woman and get to know her, just like any other man in the world would. There was the nervous banter at first, but then we smiled, laughed, and joked with each other. For a moment, I felt like I was in total control of my own destiny. I didn't have a puppet master to make my decisions for me.