by Daya Daniels
Many nights I stay up and just listen to the sound of the waves crashing against the shore.
It’s beautiful in here. The ceilings are high and the windows around the room are large. The floors are all hardwood and the walls are painted a pale blue. The bed is comfy and big, covered in plush white linens.
I usually sleep alone, like tonight, and like every other night before it.
I miss him so much.
Placing my book down, I ease to the edge of the bed and put my bare feet on the rug next to it.
The air in here is thick with a suffocating loneliness.
Standing, I pad over to the closet and open the right side of it. It still smells of him in here—crisp and clean. My eyes rove over the neatly organized clothing and the shoes lining the floor beneath them.
I sit down just outside the louvered doors and cross my legs.
Once upon a time, I used to sleep in this closet, inhaling the scent of him. Now, I just come in here to look at everything I can’t bear to throw out.
Reaching in, I pick up a boot and run my fingers over the leather. It’s a size eleven and a half, fit for his six-foot-five frame. I admire the boot, still shiny, as though it’s been worn recently. He always took good care of his shoes.
A tear slips from my eye as I sit here, then another trickles down my cheek in a warm track. They all eventually soak the thin fabric of my slip when they drip from my chin, until I’m full-on sobbing.
I drop the shoe on the hardwood floor beneath me and cover my face with my hands.
It’s been five years, but it hasn’t gotten any easier. Every day I miss him even more.
With all my force, I toss the boot back in the closet and kick the door shut, hurting my foot in the process, which only makes me cry more.
I limp my way back into bed and shut off the light, snuggling into the pillow, thinking of how it used to feel to not have to sleep alone, even though it feels like I’ve spent our entire lives together missing him. I think about how it felt when he used to hold me at night, with his strong arms wrapped around me and the tip of his nose pressed into the base of my neck, breathing me in. The sound of his deep voice as he talked to me about this and that before we fell asleep. The laughter. The jokes. The talk of our plans for the future. And I know I’ll never have that anymore.
I know I’ll always be sleeping alone.
CHAPTER TWO
Callie
A FEW DAYS LATER...
I’m grateful to be back teaching. I’ve only been standing in front of a classroom of first graders again for the last six months. I’ve missed it so much in the five years I’ve been gone.
Being here is better than being at home. At least here I get to interact with people, even if they’re little people. Still, they light up my day and make me feel as though I have some purpose in my life—something I feared I’ve lost for a while.
I’d handed out homework assignments for the week and stayed up late the night before grading papers, scratching short positive notes next to their grades that read: Great job! or Wonderful try! or Good effort!
Each time I scribbled a note, I remembered that even if my students hadn’t done well or did great, they’d always know I appreciated their effort. And kids are so impressionable. It’s my aim as a teacher to build character not to rip it down because a child uses the word “nice” too many times in a story.
I love what I do here. I didn’t know where I’d be without this job.
As soon as the bell rang earlier, the students rushed up from their seats and dashed for the door like they couldn’t get home fast enough.
I scoot my chair to my desk and spin it toward the windows to look outside. A warm breeze blows in, reminding me of where I am—the picturesque South Carolina coast. I cross my legs and finger the hem of my thin cotton dress, admiring my bare legs beneath them. I’m not sure how long I sit here, looking at myself, but a knock lands on the door, jerking me out of my daydream.
Looking up, I meet eyes with Principal Sayers.
“Hey, Callie,” he says, stepping into my classroom, his shiny brown shoes clattering against the tile.
“Principal Sayers.” I rush to stand, meeting him as he makes it halfway across the classroom in front of the Smart Board.
Principal Sayers has been running Leighton Elementary School for the past ten years. He’s young to have made it to principal already and he isn’t bad-looking for his age, which is roughly ten years older than me. He’s the reliable type, boring, plain. Far different from any man I’ve ever been attracted to.
He smiles and wrings his hands. His face is flushed red. “I just came to check on you.” He bobs his head, his brown eyes raking over me.
“Yes, I’m fine. Everything has been wonderful, and the kids are great.”
He smiles and rakes a hand through his hair. “Good. That’s good. School will be out soon anyways. You got to love the month of May, right? It means June is just around the corner.”
“Yes, definitely,” I say, rocking back and forth. “A few more weeks left.”
“And then we’ll all have a nice break.”
“Yeah.” My gaze drifts away somewhere, past him and outside through the windows, when I notice all the students have dispersed.
Principal Sayers steps closer, fiddling with the spot where a gold band on his finger used to be. “How are the kids?”
Kids?
“They’re good. They’re growing fast.” I chuckle. “Ethan and Zac are nineteen and are already off at Vanderbilt together.”
“What do they plan to do?”
“Well, Zac wants to be a professor and Ethan has plans to become a doctor. Noah is off to Duke in the fall with plans to be an entrepreneur of some sort. He’s the only one who still lives at home.”
It only reminds me of how empty the house has become in the past two years and now that Noah has a girlfriend, he’s hardly there too.
“Oh, yes, right. They grow up fast, don’t they?”
“Yeah, they do.”
He shoves a hand in his pants pocket and gives me a smirk. “You know, I try to imagine what you’ve been through and I just can’t.”
I give him a tight smile.
“But you know, if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here for you.” His heavy hand lands on my shoulder. My eyes flicker down to look at it, then to stare into his face. He removes it slowly and smiles. “I’m here to help, Callie.”
“Thank you.” I fold my arms across my chest, still occasionally looking out the window.
He swallows. “I guess what I’m trying to say, Callie, is—”
I hold my index finger up and smile as politely as I can. “Principal Sayers, I’ll be right back...” I dash out of the classroom and down the hallways doing a jog in my flats, grateful to have found an excuse to get away from where that conversation might’ve been heading.
When I make it to the double doors, I push on them and pad across the quad area and to a bench where I see one of my students sitting.
Brandon Forrester’s a special kid and one of my favorite students since I’ve been back at Leighton Elementary. Greg and Ivy have always talked about him with a certain sad excitement in their voices and I knew somewhere along the line they were related, although distant.
He has the biggest blue eyes I’ve ever seen and he’s about four feet tall, with tanned skin since all the kids here spend entirely too much time on the beach.
When I first met him he always seemed preoccupied with things he never wanted to talk about when I asked him about what was on his mind. And he struggled with our day-to-day lessons in math and science. But over the past few months he’s been improving and now he’s attentive and excited about being in my class. I’ve seen a huge change in him. I’m just not entirely sure what’s brought it on.
Brandon’s hands are clasped in his lap and his backpack is still on his back as he looks around, jerking his head from left to right as if he’s waiting for someone.
“Brandon,” I say breathlessly, putting my hand on his shoulder.
He looks up at me with big blue eyes as I run my hands through his thick hair. “Hi, Teacher Stone.” He gives me a boyish smile.
I ease down on the bench next to him. “What are you doing out here alone? All the kids have left.”
He takes a deep breath. “I’m waiting for my dad.” He checks the colorful Avengers watch on his wrist, noting the time. “But I don’t think he’s coming.”
“Oh.” I pull him in for a hug, looking around at the same time.
“Brandon! Brandon!” his mom, Raine, calls out as she jogs toward us. When she stops, she exhales.
Both Brandon and I stand before she makes it to us.
I look Raine over and smile. Her auburn hair is perfectly coiffed and the outfit she has on undoubtedly cost more than my truck.
Raine Forrester is a well-known spoiled brat around here. She’s from a wealthy family who have roots here going as far back as when the first settlers came here back in the 1600s. She has doting parents who still treat her like a little kid, despite the fact she’s a grown woman. She doesn’t work, which is funny, because since I’ve been back teaching here, even when Brandon wasn’t waiting for his dad, Raine still was late to collect him each day when school was over. Only God knows what she was doing so important it prevented her from picking up her kid on time.
“I thought I’d find you here,” Raine says.
I smile, looking between the two of them.
“I’m a little late, but I told Brandon he could wait an hour, that I’d come at four-thirty because I knew that piece of shit dad of yours wasn’t coming.”
Brandon leans into his mom’s side wearing a sad expression. She rakes her fingers through his hair. “He was coming, Mom. He will. He promised.”
Raine wraps an arm around Brandon. She reaches into her pocket for her cell phone. “Don’t worry about that asshole, Brandon. I’m going to give him a piece of my mind.”
Brandon glances up at me, barely containing the tears in his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything more.
“Okay, well, thanks, Teacher Stone,” Raine growls, tapping frantically into her phone with one hand.
“Okay, guys. You have a good evening.”
I watch the two of them stroll down the sidewalk and toward their car. When they hop in, Raine is still shouting at Brandon for God knows what. His head is hung low. She starts up the engine and hits the gas, driving out of the parking lot.
I look around.
The sky is morphing into a beautiful burnt orange stretching across the sky and soon the sun will be setting.
It’s amazing here and the constant reminder that we’re right beside the ocean soothes me.
I debate what I’ll make for dinner when I get home. My phone vibrates. I know it’s the usual message from Helen giving me whatever update she needs to. The others are always from Ivy about trying to get me out to have some weekend fun.
I pull it from my pocket and scroll through all of them.
Ivy: Dinner tomorrow night at The Greenleaf. Greg is coming along with me and Pippa and Jace will be there too. Don’t forget.
Exhaling, I text back confirming I’ll be there when I know I’ll cancel at the last minute. I’ll find some stupid reason as to why I wouldn’t be able to make it, or I’ll just flat-out lie. I have no interest in sitting at a dinner table with a bunch of couples on a Friday night, whether or not there’d be alcohol there. And I need the alcohol. Lots and lots of it.
Friday nights I usually spend at home, in front of the television or putting puzzles together. Saturdays, I clean. Or, to be more precise, I clean the stuff Helen has already cleaned just for good measure. But honestly, it’s just to rid myself of the nervous energy I accumulate from just making it through the week.
Ivy: Please don’t stand us up, Callie.
Me: I won’t.
I’m such a liar.
Callie
THE NEXT EVENING...
So, I went.
I figured why the hell not. The morning had gone by uneventfully. I’d gone through my usual routine of trying to stay busy. I’d tidied up the pantry. I’d read a book. I’d even gone for a five-mile run and taken a nap. And when I awoke, I thought maybe it’d be a good idea to get out since the house was empty.
Dinner wasn’t so bad, at first. Not until the drinks started flowing along with the friendly advice from the “people who loved me.”
I’ve known Ivy most of my life since we’ve both grown up in North Charleston together. She’s a blond bombshell with huge green eyes men always fell over. Ivy’s outgoing and I’m just not. I’ve always been the wallflower and she’s the party animal, even now.
We went to high school here together then attended Charleston Southern University at the same time. I became a teacher and Ivy went into cosmetology. Now, she owns her own spa downtown that’s been doing well for itself since she’d opened it eleven years ago. Ivy thinks she knows it all and she always has the best advice for everything. She’s been married to Greg, the lawyer, for about twenty years now. They’re good together, normal, the perfect couple.
Jace and Pippa are different from Greg and Ivy in every way imaginable—always arguing, usually a public disagreement that ends badly.
All night, I watched couples talking together, laughing together, snuggled up to each other in the restaurant we’ve had dinner in. I sat uncomfortably watching all of it, feeling something akin to rage flowing through me. And maybe envy. Wait, of course it was envy. I kept my tears back and just drank more wine.
Each time I glanced up from my dinner plate tonight, I felt sad, pitiful eyes looking back at me.
And I swore I could read their thoughts, and they all wanted to know if I was okay—if I’d ever be okay again.
I walk out the front door on the deck and find a spot to lean against one of the pillars. Everyone inside is asleep and the place is in darkness. It’s a few minutes past eleven o’clock. I’m a little drunk and exhausted as hell.
The house just across the street is lively. A lot of the time I find myself out here just watching the couple who lives inside the pale-blue bungalow home. Their names are Summer and Anthony. They’re young and they have a little girl named Georgia, who is five. Summer and Anthony are always entertaining friends and family. They’re always laughing together. And on Saturday nights they have movie night.
It had become one of my favorite pastimes on Saturday nights, just watching them like a voyeur through the large window in their den, as I enjoy a smoke out here.
Right now, Summer is moving through the house clicking off lights. Anthony has the bowl of popcorn. They kiss before they plop down on the sofa in front of the large television and snuggle up to each other, covering themselves with a blanket.
I wonder what they’re watching. I wonder if they’ll fuck after. I wonder why they don’t have curtains...
I admire my four-inch, strappy platform heels I put on earlier. I paired them nicely with a blue sleeveless wrap dress and left my hair out to fall just over one shoulder. I felt pretty. Even Noah told me so before I left.
He stepped close to me and pulled me in for a big hug, wrapping his heavy arms around me, before planting a wet kiss on my cheek. Noah has a thick head of brown hair and a full beard. He’s a good-looking boy all the girls around Mount Pleasant seem to be after. It all reminded me of how much of a man he’d become in the past year. Noah towers over me now by almost a foot and, much of the time, it feels like he’s scolding me for something rather than the other way around. All my sons are men now and although I want Noah to grow up and live his own life, I don’t know how I’ll manage when he leaves for Duke.
I’ll be left in this big house alone, with nothing to comfort me except for my own incessant thoughts and dead hopes.
I take a seat on a step that’s covered in a bit of beach sand, just as a soft breeze washes over me.
The sky is full of twinkling stars and the sound of the oc
ean in the distance soothes my mind.
I kick off my heels and pull a cigarette from the pack I’m holding. I light it and watch the tip of it turn orange, before I put the other end of it to my lips and take a long draw, watching the smoke drift away.
I’m not a smoker, but occasionally I light up one when I’m feeling on edge, frustrated. And tonight is one of those nights.
I shift where I’m sitting and pull my dress up a bit to the top of my thighs, running a hand over the soft skin there. I think about how he touched me—the way his hands felt as they skated across my skin—the sound of his deep voice in my ear.
No matter how many times I tell myself to stop—that I should stop, I never do.
And even though I know it’s all a show, something he’s being paid to do, I sink into his tenderness. I fucking disappear in his warmth. He touches me like I belong to him, like he really wants me. And I can’t remember the last time I had that—a man who wanted me.
Up until three months ago, I’d gone without sex for years. I practically felt like a virgin again.
To some people that might not seem like a big deal, but to me it’s huge. There’s only so much masturbation and happy time you could spend with a vibrator before you crave a real person—a man’s touch.
The tenderness. The attention. The sensation of warm skin against your own.
I pull my phone from my pocket and lift it to my lips, pressing them to the cool screen. I’ll hate myself tomorrow for doing this, but I don’t know how I’ll make it through another week without losing my mind if I don’t.
Austen
“YOU’RE AMAZING!” REBECCA SHOUTS, tearing into my shoulder with her fingernails as she rides me.
I grip both sides of her waist, holding on to her, staring up at her fake breasts as they bounce in my face.
Her blond hair is everywhere, and I can’t get the smell of the awful perfume she’s wearing out of my lungs. She’s still bouncing on my dick like a madwoman as I glance over at the clock. It’s just after twelve o’clock at night and I’m far on the north side of the city in a posh hotel suite—a suite Rebecca had paid for with her shiny, black American Express.