by J. R. Rogue
He stopped speaking and I remained silent, letting him tell the story at his own pace. He dunked himself under the water and wiped his face. He kept his eyes from me, training them on the sky.
“I asked if we could wait until Dad got back but she said he wouldn’t be back for a couple hours anyways. I felt weird being in the car, but she was my mom, so I didn’t protest. I remember my sister reaching her hand behind her seat, looking for mine. I grabbed it. I didn’t want ice cream anymore.”
I felt sick at his words. I straightened my legs and rose halfway out of the water. I pulled my hair over my shoulder and started to wring the water from it. I wanted time to stand still. I didn’t want to hear the rest. I knew how it ended. But he needed to tell me. He finally looked at me.
“We went over a bridge, but we never made it to the other side. My mom was smoking, something she never did. I assume it was a habit she only indulged in while drinking. We had the windows open and the air off even though it was sweltering. She dropped her cigarette and reached down to get it, her head was below the top of the wheel, she wasn’t looking at all and her hands were away from the wheel. I remember my sister screaming and trying to steer from the passenger seat. It was too late by then. Our front bumper had hit another car and bounced us off, sending us fishtailing. I grabbed the seat in front of me and closed my eyes. We went into the bay. With our open windows, the car filled fast. My mom and sister had hit the dash and were unconscious. I tried to get Sasha. She was too heavy for me though. I barely made it to the surface. I didn’t know my leg was broken then. I was in shock.”
His voice trailed off, and I felt relieved. I didn’t know if I could listen to anymore. The silence surrounded us.
“You didn’t have to tell me all of that.” My voice sounded small.
“It’s public knowledge. Google me,” he shrugged. His voice was light again. He wanted to move away from the story, from his story.
“I would feel bad for doing that.”
“Why? I’ve Googled you before. Many times.” His smile came back.
“Why?”
“I wanted to find anything you wrote. After that summer, everyone knew what happened to me. I couldn’t take the staring. It made me feel worse. It made me feel broken. My dad couldn’t look at me, so I hated being home. The teachers and my classmates pitied me, so I hated being at school. My old friends didn’t know how to act around me, so I spent most lunches sitting alone. Then one day your brother sat down next to me.”
I smiled at the thought of my silly brother sitting next to a shy, quiet, Chace. He made everyone feel comfortable around him. He was so good at that.
“He was new. That was the year he started living with his dad and your mom. He didn’t say anything, he just smiled at me and started to eat his lunch. It felt nice to sit next to someone and not worry about how bad they felt. You can feel that coming off people. He was just there to eat lunch. He came back the next day, and the next.
At the end of the week, he said I should come over to his house after school to hang out. It was the first thing he said to me, but it felt like we were already friends. We went to the old house with your mom, while she was working on packing up things in the attic, and ran all through the woods.
The next week I came over there three nights and we did the same. My dad didn’t care if I wasn’t home. He’d have more time to sit in his office and drink without having to be bothered with feeding me.” He dunked his head under the water again and came back out, shaking his head like a dog, little droplets of water hit my face.
“School became bearable again,” he continued. “I had your brother there. At nights, I had your family. I dreaded the weekends when I would be stuck at home with my father. I would waste my hours alone watching movies. He never cooked, but kept us stocked up on bread for PB&J sandwiches, and boxed mac and cheese. A lot of cereal was consumed. I began to view the time I spent home as visiting, and at your mother’s was where I really belonged.”
He felt like he belonged there. In that house. He escaped his nightmare in the place mine began. He had somewhere he could go. If only I had. I wrapped my arms around myself, a chill ran up my spine.
“Years ago, on one of the first cold fall nights, your mom insisted Andrew and I stay inside instead of roaming the woods,” he started. “She had picked up pizzas that night to stop him from complaining about it. She was going to spend the evening painting the room I stay in now, your old room. Your stepfather was out of town on business. I remember we hung out in front of the fireplace.
Your mom pulled out a three ring binder. I knew she was a teacher so I figured she was going to give us some sort of assignment. Instead, it was a book. She said, “My daughter wrote it when she was in high school, it’s never been published.”
Your brother groaned and said he wanted to play a game. So, I took it. I read until it was time to go home, so your mom said I could take it with me. I went straight to my room when I got there and stayed up until one in the morning reading your story. I finished it. That was one of the first nights I didn’t dream about my mother and my sister. I dreamt about the story you wrote instead.”
I felt like I hadn’t taken a single breath the entire time his light voice had hummed around that pool. It was swirling around me as I floated aimlessly in the water. My chest rose and fell erratically. My eyes were trained on the ghost of a shadow of my legs below the surface. I pulled them away and looked at his face. The belief that the eyes are the windows to the soul is well known. Everyone knows that damn saying, and for good reason. It is true. I felt like Chace’s soul was staring back at me.
I had written countless stories when I was younger. I had no clue which one it could have been. I had forgotten nearly everything. Time will do that to you. A part of me wanted to forget them. In my life and in college, in everything after moving away from here, I had learned so much about writing. If I looked at those stories now, I would pick them apart, but my heart would be in them. That was the reason I didn’t want to read them again. The stories I told back then would be better than anything I ever had published.
“What story was it?” I asked.
“The one about the man who played guitar by the sea,” he replied.
“For the mermaid,” I said. This obsession was brought forth by a certain red headed Disney princess.
“Yeah.” He began circling around the back of me; I twirled in the water to continue facing him. “For the siren.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“Ah, life goes on. I get by pretty well. I play sports, I run, I swim. I don’t let it get in the way. I’ve been without that leg for over half my life. I don’t really remember what it’s like to have the other one. And you’re not the only one surprised here if that makes you feel better…”
We both knew I didn’t mean his leg. He was obviously not held back by it, but I didn’t press. It was his story, his tragedy. If he didn’t want to talk about it anymore who was I to blame him? He had opened up to me. We had been doing that. Exposing scars, the way lovers do when their guards are let down and intimacy is inevitable.
“What are you surprised by?” I cocked my head to the side and my brow furrowed.
He pointed to my collarbone, to the lines inked along my skin. “You have a lot more tattoos than I would have guessed.”
“I hear that a lot.” After I’ve undressed, before sex, men always pointed them out. I blushed at the thought. Surely Chace could figure out when I heard that statement from men.
“Once the books took off, and I knew for sure that I could do this for the rest of my life, I couldn’t stop myself,” I explained. “I knew that I would never have to cover a tattoo for a job interview so I could get them anywhere. They’re addicting. I would reward myself with them. I’d get one when I completed a project or when one of my books hit the bestsellers list. I’m running out of places though. I’ll look like a walking book one day if I don’t stop. One that doesn’t makes sense.” I laughed.
“How many do you have?”
“If you count my arm as one?” I looked up at the stars, they winked at me. Devils. “Twelve.”
“Wow.” He was still circling me, and I was still spinning.
I had the urge to walk out of the water, to let him look my body over, and count for himself. I silenced my forward thought. This was my roommate, not book research.
“You’ve never wanted to get a tattoo?” His skin was too perfect to mark. I loved all men. Tattooed, pierced, clean cut. I was not a woman with a type. Men were beautiful, and how they chose to paint their canvas was entirely up to them. I loved the art of them.
“Ah, not seriously. I mean, having a sleeve like that would be awesome, but I could never have one with my job.”
A teacher with tattoos in a small Bible belt town such as this would be frowned upon. It was a town of gossip, judgment, and tight lipped fear. I could see his point.
“One of my best friends is working on her second sleeve. She’s pretty bad ass.” Gemma, my best friend in New York, was the one who went with me for my first tattoo, and every one thereafter.
“A sleeve on a woman is hot. I will not deny that.” He smiled, his eyes crinkled slightly. The white of his teeth glowed.
“So, how many girls did you bring here?” I grinned back and arched a brow at him. Am I flirting? I could hear it in my tone of voice. There was a large switch inside of me; I knew when it had been flipped. I knew when every word coming from my mouth was a hook, a snare, a net. I knew when I was hunting. I had been fighting it. I had stamped the need down. It was out now. I needed to shove it back down. I shivered suddenly, and he noticed.
“You ready to go back?” He asked, avoiding my flirtation.
“Yeah, I’m turning a bit blue,” I sighed. I swam to the side of the pool for the ladder. The two towels Chace had brought sat next to it. I climbed out and grabbed one, drying off quickly. I could hear Chace swimming over. He pulled himself from the water and grabbed the other and began toweling off too.
There’s nothing like the rush of being near someone you find attractive. Knowing you want to touch them, but can’t. I kept my back to him as I dried myself off. He walked past me towards the break in the chain link fence, his towel around his shoulders. I couldn’t keep my eyes from his leg. It did not diminish my attraction to him. It did not deter me in any way. If anything, it made me want him more. All that he was, in spite of what happened to him, was beautiful.
The thought of losing Andrew ever, let alone at such a young age, despite our lack of blood relation, made my stomach knot. That kind of pain was foreign to me. All because of the selfishness of his own mother. A woman who wouldn’t grown up. Her actions had ripped a family apart, sent two of them into the ground, and left two behind, broken. I was broken still. A death didn’t shatter me, but I would take the death of the innocence I once owned over the death of someone I loved.
The drive home was quiet. Chace kept the radio off. I wrapped myself in a blanket he pulled from the back. My hair dried in the cool Ozark air. I felt alive. I felt happy. My anxiety had, once again, lessened in his presence. Maybe Kat was right. I was eventually, going to cave and act on this attraction. Maybe that was okay.
I was looking forward to the next day with him. I was feeling that high of spending time with someone who left you lightheaded and warm. I had felt it before. I had used it as fuel and burned it off in pages. But I didn’t want to do that with him. What would my family think if I burned him? Just like all the rest? I could just go back to New York. Shut them out again. But it was not something I wanted to do. I didn’t want to be the girl holding the can of gasoline anymore.
We made it back to the house quickly. At the steps to the second floor, we hesitated to say ‘good night.’ I felt the lump in my stomach. The first date ‘will-we-or-wont-we’ lump. I could see a change in his ocean eyes as well. I darted up the steps before I could make a fool of myself. I slept well.
For the second time since I had moved to Missouri, I found myself leaving the house with Chace, with no idea where I was going. I feared I was slipping into old reckless habits but Chace was not like any other guy I had ever pursued. Not that I was pursuing him.
I needed to remind myself of this. I needed to stamp down this attraction. I woke up feeling a little ashamed of my thoughts from the night before at the pool. I was familiar with ‘next morning’ shame, but I didn’t drink last night. I didn’t wake up in an unfamiliar bed. I didn’t need to wash someone’s sex off of my skin.
I always dated around my age and slightly older. Why did I find myself wanting this man? The obvious reasons flew to mind. He was beautiful. One could describe him as hot, sexy, cute, and, yes, he was all of those things. But I saw beauty. It was hard to listen to him speak, his soft voice sent me over the edge. He took care of his body, didn’t take it for granted, and never let his leg hold him back.
His mind is what drew me to him fully. He could not sit idle, he devoured new information. Was this what I had been waiting for? Was this why I never let anyone in, and found excuses to cut every man out of my life?
This man was perfect in my eyes. I did not write men like him. I wrote sex crazed alpha males, and I hated that kind of man. But it sold well. I was a sellout. This boy, this man, I could want more with. The thought scared me. How could I know something like that? We were only beginning to get to know each other. It had to be lust. It was those blue eyes and that perfect smile. It was his hands. It was the way he looked at me in the pool. What would today bring?
I dressed warm. Spring was emerging more each day, but a bite was still in the air. I skipped makeup, threw my hair into a ponytail, and slipped on a ball cap. The house was empty when I made it downstairs. Chace was already outside loading his jeep. He was wearing shorts for the first time since I had met him. I guess insecurities tend to disappear once you strip down to boxers in front of someone. I blushed at the memory. Stop it, Sera. Stop it. He smiled at my approach.
He looked down at me. His height, suddenly more pronounced. “You ready to do this?”
I pretended to mull it over. “Sure. Although, I am still not sure what this little trip is about.”
“Does it have to be about anything?” He countered. “Warm weather is coming. I have the day off. You have spent nearly all of your days inside. It’s a crime.” He swept his arm around and we both glanced at the tree line. Tiny buds of green were growing more each day.
“Ugh. You’re a nature lover. I despise your kind.”
“How could you live out here and not love it?” He raised his arms wider. He wasn’t wrong. I loved it here, out in the open. But playing outdoors was something I had done little of since moving away, unless you counted long walks in Central Park. I shot him a smirk and hopped in the jeep. He replied with a grin and joined me.
We took off down the driveway, making small talk for the forty-five minute drive to Camdenton Missouri. I ventured to this town during my high school years to shop at the mall in Osage Beach. It was a small town, known for its football team. I remember hearing about the castle there, but had never visited. Chace reminded me on the way there.
It, of course, wasn’t a real castle. The structure was built in the early 1900’s by a wealthy executive, who passed away before its completion, in one of the first automobile accidents. His sons finished the project in his honor. The castle acted as a hotel before it was destroyed by a fire in 1942. When we pulled up, I was immediately sad I had never seen it before. I had seen real castles in Ireland and Scotland, but there was something charming about this one. Perhaps because it was so close to my home. And the story behind it.
I hopped out as soon as we parked and started walking towards the trail leading to the structure. Chace called after me to wait. I turn to see him pulling a large box with a handle from his trunk and a blanket.
“Let’s leave our phones here,” he said. I walked back to him.
“Leave our phones? Why?” I didn’t go anywh
ere without my phone. I was a slave to technology.
“No distractions.” He shrugged shutting the back of his jeep.
“From what?”
“From that.” He motioned to the castle. “From the outdoors.”
“But what if we need help? What if one of us falls or something?” I clutched my iPhone in my hands, desperately.
He laughed. “Okay. I’ll keep my phone. You leave yours here.” He held out his hand to me, I stared at his palm.
“This sounds like the beginning of a missing persons case.” I cocked an eyebrow at him. I was not scared of him. My senses were calm but I liked giving him a hard time. I strolled past him, over to the jeep and tossed my phone into the glove compartment. I turned to him and gave a ‘happy now?’ smile. He gave me an answer in his.
We headed up the trail to the castle. It didn’t take long to meet the structure. It was beautiful in its ruin. I walked slowly, Chace trailing with his box. After twenty minutes of solo exploration, I found the spot where Chace had settled. He spread his blanket next to a ledge of the castle. His secret box was open and I saw what he had been lugging around. A typewriter. A beautiful black typewriter. One of my absolute favorite things in the world.
My mother had an obsession with them. Many antique models littered the home I was now living in. All were in astounding condition. This one I did not recognize.
“Where did that come from?” I asked as I took a seat next to him.
“It’s your mothers. A recent find,” he replied.
“I knew I didn’t recognize it. I remember every one she bought. She had names for them.” I ran fingers over the keys.
“I remember. I always wanted to play on them. Eventually she let me.”
“She always was very protective of them. This one looks like, it’s from the 1930s?” I had seen so many, and been on so many antique trips with her. I liked making a game out of guessing when they were created. I was nearly always right.