by Sara Wolf
“What was that? Take it back!”
When he gets tired of throwing stuff at me, he leaves and tells me not to stay out too long because of the cold. I wave him off and walk downstream, to the small waterfall. To where I fell.
I never saw it in my dream. My dream just led me to the creek. Led me to Lee. But it couldn’t show me the creek, or Lee, or what really happened. I’d suppressed the accident – and the boy who caused it – deep down in my mind. I still don’t remember it. Maybe someday I will, but I’m not sure I want to relive it. Maybe I don’t need to remember it to believe it. It happened, whether I believe it or not. And all I can do now is move forward.
I need to have more faith. Faith in the past. Faith in myself. Faith in Lee.
I wonder how Lee felt – seeing me go over the edge. It scarred him, too. But he didn’t suppress it like I did. I wonder how Grandpa felt, running out to a crying Lee and seeing me bleeding over the rocks. They were both probably scared. Terrified beyond words. But Grandpa scooped me up and acted fast and in the right ways. He saved me.
I take out his letter from my pocket and read it again. It’s not forged, I know that now. How could I ever think that Grandpa’s warm words were forged? He wanted me to marry Lee. No – to try marrying Lee. Was it a way to make up for the fact I forgot him? Was Grandpa nudging me towards my repressed memories in the hopes Lee would bring them to light and let them free? Maybe he felt guilty about my accident until the very end. All the hugs and Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners – all the smiles and the way Grandpa would clasp my hand – were those all riddled with guilt?
Maybe. But in his eyes, love shone brighter.
I feel guilty now, too. Guilty I believed Kiera. Guilty I betrayed Lee. Guilty I wasn’t smart or secure enough to keep myself from hurting him. And for a while that guilt ate me alive. It’s still eating me. But that’s fine. I can withstand it – embrace it, even, as long as I know Lee is told how I feel. I can try to piece my shattered self together and try to move on as long as I tell him.
I fold the letter up and put it in my pocket, and skip one last stone on the creek’s surface.
“I’ll become stronger, Grandpa. For the people who love me. That’s what life is about, right?”
I laugh and muss my hair up.
“Quit talking to yourself, self.”
I pull my hood on and head back to the house. A black Jaguar is parked in the driveway – Mom and Dad and Riley and two other strange people gathered around it, talking. As I get closer I see one of the people is an older man – gray hair, small glasses, and dressed in a polo and slacks. His face is stern and frowny. The other person is a girl, my age or a little older, with bright blonde hair. She wears tight jeans and a fluffy faux-fur lined jacket. She turns to look at me and my insides freeze over.
Kiera.
“Hi, Rose!” She plasters on a pretty smile and waves. Mom looks between us.
“You two know each other?”
“We’ve seen each other on campus a few times.” She lies and smiles bigger.
“Kiera knows everyone. She’s got her nose in everyone’s business,” The gray-haired man sighs. Kiera slaps his arm.
“Daddy! And who taught me how to socialize? You!”
Mom laughs. Dad shoots me a weirded-out look and Riley mimics his face. Mom puts her arm around my shoulder and draws me into the circle.
“Rose, these are the new owners of the house. Kiera and Charlie Rothman.”
I don’t look Kiera in the eyes. I can’t. Not after what she did. But I can’t confront her like this – in front of my family – either. She knows that. I can see it in her little smiles. And a part of me is scared of her. Scared she manipulated me so easily. Scared that she might be able to do it again. So I can’t let her in. I can’t acknowledge her. Not even a little. I give her one curt nod, and that’s it.
Mom gives them the grand tour of the place. Riley bounces ahead with her and hangs on the stairs, the railings, the doors. He’s excited there’s a pretty girl. If only he knew. Dad lags behind with me and hugs my shoulder.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. It’s just…” Seeing Kiera in Grandpa’s house, knowing she’ll have the place where Lee and I first met, makes me sick to my stomach. “Seeing strangers in Grandpa’s house is bizarre.”
“I know how you feel. But it’s for the best this way. Your mother and I can’t afford to keep up the mortgage, not with the company recovering like it is.”
Charlie, Kiera’s father, has been staring at us intently. Mom shows Kiera the kitchen and they squeal together about the ‘french windows’, whatever those are. Charlie clears his throat.
“We’ll be remodeling the house. The basic frame is strong and suitable. We’re converting it into a nursing home for the elderly.”
“What about the garden?” I ask. For some reason, I’m not as afraid of Charlie as I am of Kiera, even if he is strict-looking.
“That will be kept and expanded. We’ll be hiring several gardeners to maintain the grounds. The sunflower fields in particular are a wonderful addition. Something about seeing sunflowers in full bloom brightens the soul.”
Dad agrees. And somewhere deep down, I do too.
“You have to take good care of it.” I frown. “This place was important to us. To Grandpa. If you don’t take care of it, I’ll never forgive you.”
The conviction in my words shocks even me. Charlie looks a little surprised, but smiles in a small, warm way.
“I promise you, young lady. This place will be well-used and well-loved.”
Kiera is staring at me. Her eyes flicker between her father’s smile and my face, and her own smile flashes sour for an instant.
We say our polite goodbyes in the driveway as darkness sets in. Riley and I stare out the back window of the car as Mom drives away. We watch the house until the top of its frosted roof disappears behind the trees, and we say goodbye to the memories we had there. Our childhoods.
Chapter Ten
In Which Lee Montenegro Gives Me One Last Dance
The invitation said black-tie attire. The only dress I have that’s even slightly suitable is the beautiful blue one Bianca gave me that day when I modeled. The dress sags slightly around the bust, but Selena insists I look ‘totally hot’. I can’t help but laugh gratefully. She’s been nothing but supportive and helpful these last few weeks.
I slip on a pair of heels and Selena offers to do my makeup. When she’s done with me, my lips are baby-pink and my eyes look bigger and lashier than ever.
“You’re a witch,” I whisper and lean in to look at my reflection closely. There’s not one zit showing. “You know how do to magic.”
Selena laughs. “As if! It’s called ‘putting-makeup-on-since-fifth-grade-and-spending-all-my-life-looking-fabulous’. Now get going! You’ve got a party to be sexy at.”
I slip my purse over my shoulder. “Thanks, Selena. For helping me. It means a lot.”
She shoos me out the door and closes it in my face. There’s no going back now. I have to go to this party. I have to face him, even if it feels like my insides are being chewed by nervous rats. I ruined this. I need to fix it. That’s what growing up means; fixing the stuff you broke instead of sweeping it under the bed where no one will see.
I shake my head and smile. Now I’m starting to sound like Riley.
I hail a cab. The night is dark and smoggy – I can’t see the moon or stars. The Hilton glows like a bright, warmly-lit candle against the night. Christmas lights and trees line the driveway. The loading zone is swamped with people in suits and gorgeous dresses getting out of cars and making their way inside. I get out, suddenly horribly self-conscious about my dress. I know I look out of place and immature compared to these people - like a kid in her mother’s clothes. But I shake the anxiety off. I don’t care about these other people. I’m here for Lee. To apologize. Nothing else matters but him right now.
I follow the stream of fancy-dressed people through the lobby
and to a ballroom. Its doors are flung open – sprays of fresh red and white flowers everywhere. A concierge checks and double checks invitations at his podium before letting guests in. I can see dozens of white tables clustered around an open marble dancefloor. A quartet plays in the corner, the sweet sounds of the violin and cello mingling with the chatter of the crowd. Some people are already dancing in pairs – ballroom dancing, the type of dancing where everyone moves in sync and knows the right moves. I swallow. You couldn’t pay me to go anywhere near a ballroom dancefloor, and especially not tonight. I’m just here to tell Lee my feelings, and then I’ll leave. I spy a menu next to the door. Crab in butter sauce and herb penne with foie gras. Black forest truffle cake and mango-raspberry sorbet with mint relish. My mouth waters. No! I’m just here for Lee. Who cares about food? I have to find him as quick as I can.
And that’s when I see him. Farlon. He’s standing by the bar, sipping a whiskey and looking much taller in his suit. His salt-and-pepper hair and his oily smirk are even more noticeable. Why is he here? I shake the mystery out of my head and walk up to the main desk. A pretty woman in a suit smiles at me.
“How may I help you?”
“Hi. I was, um, told to ask about the room reservation under Montenegro?”
“Ah, you must be Ms. Jensen.” She smiles and hands me a keycard. “Penthouse suite three, last floor. Enjoy your stay.”
Penthouse? I take the elevator up to the eleventh floor. Why would Lee rent the penthouse? Since when did he have that kind of money? I could see Grace renting a penthouse. But not Lee. The rats gnawing my insides turn to chewing tigers as I get out on the top floor and open the door to the suite with my keycard. The suite is nicer than anything I’ve been in – the bed is huge and hung with a dark canopy, like a bed out of a fairytale. Dozens of pillows are stacked on it, and on top of the biggest two pillows are a stack of chocolates tied with gold ribbon. The lights are dim but warm and welcoming. A huge plasma TV sits opposite the bed, and the balcony is almost as big as the suite itself, and has a hot tub on it.
“Lee?” I call out. No answer. He’s not here yet, if he intends to come at all. I sigh and slip my shoes off, letting the soft carpet caress my tired soles. I forgot how much work heels are. I munch on the pillow chocolates to ease my nerves as I check out the rest of the room. The mini-fridge is stocked with tiny bottles of alcohol, cookies, and chips. The bathroom is huge – the tub nearly the size of the bed and a shower stall with glass walls beside it. The room service menu sits on the bedside table, and a card says I get a complimentary massage in the spa downstairs. Like any of that matters. I’m too nervous to think about anything besides my impending confession to Lee.
I sigh and lie on the bed, staring at the canopy. What is this all about? Is Lee going to come up here? Why did he invite me to the function if he told me to come up here first? The bed feels so heavenly I feel my eyelids drooping. The beeping of the door jolts me awake. There, in the hall, stands Lee. His tall, lean frame is accented by the sharply tailored suit he wears, and his usually messy dark hair is slicked back. His dress shoes are polished. My heart wrenches around in my chest when I look into his golden eyes – the same coldness. The same gauntness in his face. He looks so sad. No, it’s more than sadness. It’s hopelessness.
“Lee –” I stand from the bed, chocolate wrappers scattering around me. “I –”
“You look beautiful.” His face never changes as he says it.
“I don’t care about that! I came here…I came here to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I listened to Kiera but I never asked you. I didn’t trust you. I’m sorry. I was just…you’re just so different from me, Lee.”
He snorts. He might as well have stabbed me in the heart with the sound, but I won’t stop now.
“You’re handsome, is what I mean. And kind. And funny. And you always know what to say, and you’re a good listener, and you’re popular, you make me feel…right. I never even knew I wasn’t right until I met you. You showed me what I was missing out on. You showed me a whole other world. And instead of repaying you, I betrayed you.”
“Stop,” He sighs. “You’re pathetic.”
Those words rip the air from my lungs. I fight to keep breathing, but the tears I swore I wouldn’t shed are starting to overflow.
“I know that! I know. You have every right to hate me. I didn’t come here to try to get together again. I know after what I did that’s impossible. I want you to move on and find someone better. Someone nicer, and prettier. Someone who trusts you a lot,” I laugh weakly through the tears. “I have no right to want anything for you. But I want…I want you to be happy. With someone better than me.”
I can’t disguise my tears anymore, so I let them spill.
“I like you.” I force a smile. “Boys don’t like me. They cheat off my tests or borrow my notes from class, but they don’t really like me. I’m only good at studying, and carrying around stupid dreams about bakeries. I’m no fun.” I laugh and say it louder, like I’m cementing it into place. “I’m no fun. I can’t make anyone feel good, or feel happy. I can’t even make them laugh. I couldn’t even support my family when they needed me. I’m not a good friend, or a good person. But you know how to make people feel special. And you know how to make them laugh. And even though your Dad is a jerk, you stick by him faithfully. Someone like you with someone like me…it just doesn’t make sense. So. So it was nice when you liked me. Even if it was only for a little while. I can move on, as long as I can keep the memories, you know?”
He doesn’t say anything. I wipe my face and laugh.
“We weren’t even together that long. It’s stupid. It’s stupid how much I like you for how short a time we were together.”
I stand up and smooth my hair and grab my purse from the bed. I’ve said what I wanted to, and he doesn’t seem to want to talk. I might as well leave before I break into full-on sobbing and embarrass myself.
“You’re right. I’m pathetic. I’m just going to go.”
I pass him by with a sinking regret swallowing me up. I thought apologizing would make me feel better. It’s only torn the hole in my heart bigger. But I’ve done all I can. I’ve said all I can. I don’t know how to make it better. I can’t make it better. So I have to walk away.
The grip on my wrist is familiar. Lee pulls me back, eyes boring into mine.
“You’re pathetic,” He says again. “For thinking I could ever hate you.”
Before I can blink he pulls me into his chest and crushes me with a hug. His fingers claw at my back, like he’s trying to absorb me, fuse us together. His breath is hot in my ear.
“I will never hate you, Rose. You’re a better person than I’ll ever be.” He breathes deep into my hair and my tears leak onto his suit.
“Sometimes, when I was younger, I’d lie awake and think about you. Sometimes I’d wonder what it’d be like to hold you like this. I’d wonder what your voice would sound like saying my name, or laughing, or what your smile would be like. What your hair would smell like.”
He covers my blush in kisses.
“I wanted to talk with you about everything – people, emotions, religion, our goals, movies - until sunrise. I wanted to protect you from anybody who called you anything less than incredible. I wanted to make you see just how beautiful you really are.”
“What’s with all the past tense?” I murmur.
He smiles, sadly, and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Sorry.”
“Sorry for what? You’re making me nervous, Lee.”
He presses his forehead to mine and closes his eyes. “Let’s just enjoy this - this moment - while we still can.”
Now that he’s near me, I can barely breathe. It was so much easier when we were apart – no, that’s a lie. It was brutal. But now that we’re sharing the same space at the same time, my body aches for him all over again. His mouth is on mine, tongue aggressive and lips holding a cinnamon-burn aftertaste. His crisp suit wrinkles against me, strains to accommodate
his chest pressed into mine. I kiss back with all the weeks of longing I kept buried in my heart, pushing him gently into the wall. His hands roam up and down my back until he finds the zipper of my dress, working it off me. When it’s a pool of silk on the floor, he hefts off the wall and pushes me in turn, into the bathroom, where he pins me against the towel rack and ravages my neck with kisses. I work his belt off and snake my hand down his dress pants, freeing his cock to the cool bathroom air. He hisses and bites my neck softly as my hand pumps around him fast and hard. There’s no gentleness, no slow, sensuous moves – just the inferno of weeks of pent-up desire for each other searing our flesh.
I kiss the corner of his mouth and it undoes him, emptying into my hand with a soft grunt. He watches me lick my fingers clean with slow, taunting enjoyment. Something in him snaps, and before I can finish he turns me around and growls.
“Don’t move.”
I stay perfectly still, listening to my heartbeat and the rustling behind me. His cool hands unclip my bra and slide my panties down. He nudges my thighs apart and leans himself over me, his bare chest flush against my spine and his face in my neck. Something white moves over my head and laces around my wrists, drawing them together and tying them to the towel rack. It takes me a second to realize it’s the sleeves of his dress shirt. He ties a firm knot I can’t slide out of. When he’s satisfied it’s tight enough, he teases my nipples with his fingers as he hilts inside me with one fluid movement. My eyes roll and I relish the sensation of being filled by him.
His pace is unforgiving. I can barely inhale a full breathe before he fucks it out of me. Every thrust is magnified by the way I can feel each of his ridges and veins rub inside me. He plants sloppy, desperate kisses along my back, marking a pattern, a message, a story that tells me just how much he missed me, that he craved me as I craved him – no, that he craved me more. I want to touch him, kiss him, but the knot around my wrists binds me in place. I can’t move an inch. He has total control and he’s taking me against the wall at his pace, and the fact I can’t do anything about it makes me even wetter. The pleasure creeps up like a glorious shadow, sparse at first and growing darker as it gets closer, finally eclipsing my vision in throbbing black euphoria. Lee’s thrusts become even faster, but his withdrawals get slow, agonizing, and almost tender in the way he drags each pull out.