by Jen Printy
I hurry ahead and grab the brass handle, holding open the tall bright-red door. Instinctively, I bow at the waist as she passes. Leah studies me before following the crowd. Inside, I try to convince Leah to let me buy the snacks. “You bought the tickets,” I coax.
She shrugs and leans against the wall. “Fine. I’ll wait here.”
The shrug is a very non-committal gesture that implies a variety of meanings. That’s probably the reason I use the gesture so often. In line at concessions, I find myself overanalyzing Leah’s shrug. Anger, indifference, annoyance? I glance in her direction. To my shock, the sapphire-eyed devil is talking to Leah. A stab of sharp panic quickly turns into a frantic need to get to her. I elbow my way through the crowd. The mass of people keeps me away. I jostle against the throng, earning several complaints. I zero in on him as he removes a slender cigarette from a pack. He lights it and takes a long drag, never removing his focus from Leah. The smoke billows over his head as he exhales. She says something with a cool expression, causing him to chuckle and then walk away.
“What did he want?” I ask, trying to sound casual, but my voice cracks.
Leah’s expression shows nothing but confusion.
“That man.” I point to the door, but he’s gone. Again. Gone! My mind spews curses, but I hold my tongue tight.
“Oh, him? Nothing. He asked what movie was playing, and I told him he couldn’t smoke in here. Is everything okay?”
“Wait here. I’ll be right back. Please.” My tone is a bit more composed. Still, I must look like a lunatic, but I can’t let go of the fear that he’s now targeting her. Of all the women here tonight, he chose to speak to Leah. That can’t be a coincidence. If that sapphire-eyed devil is planning to hurt Leah in any way, I’ll let loose my inner monster. It can have its way with him.
Outside, I catch a glimpse of him. The sidewalk is too congested for speed, so I swerve into the street. Brakes screech, and a horn blares. I pay them no attention. I weave around cars to get to the opposite sidewalk, where I launch into a run. He disappears into the shadows. My breath comes up too short, and I can’t haul a full gulp of air into my starving lungs. Hands on my knees, I bend to catch my breath.
The first wave of hysteria dissipates, giving me one moment of clear thought before the next breaker crashes over me. My adrenaline spikes. Maybe he wanted me to leave and assumed I would follow. Maybe he doubled back.
I change direction. My pace accelerates as my feet thud against the bricks, urging me to go faster. Traveling those six blocks I came takes forever.
My eyes dart around the lobby. No Leah. Fear thrashes in my chest. I check the two screening rooms, where I earn a couple of choice words when I call her name. She’s nowhere to be found. I charge for the ladies’ room. The door swings open and out walks Leah.
She’s okay. She’s okay. The wintry tremors subside, replaced by a warm relief, and the rage subdues. I compose my expression then saunter to her side. “Sorry about that. Thought he was an old friend, but it wasn’t him. Could’ve been his twin, though.”
I half expect her to tell me I’m a nutcase and walk off, but she doesn’t. “They say everyone has a doppelgänger. Are you ready? The movie’s about to start.”
I nod.
We find two seats in the back of the theater. The lights fade. The monster reveals itself in the opening scene, slaughtering a young, horny couple in a spray of crimson. The beginning of the film holds my attention, but soon, I’m absorbed in thoughts of the couple from the bar two weeks ago. I remember how their eyes stared at me from the picture in the article.
Gentle warmth presses against my leg and drags me out of my grim, bitter thoughts. Electrifying heat races through me. The darkness emphasizes the attraction between us. I debate with myself then reach out and take her hand. A little smile touches her lips. Here in the dark, I make a pledge that nothing will ever harm Leah. No matter the cost.
Before I realize the movie is over, the lights slowly come back on.
“So, what did you think of the movie?” Raising her eyebrows dramatically, Leah tilts her head.
“Hum, it was good.”
“Liar, you weren’t even paying attention.” She laughs.
Busted. “Of course I was.”
“Okay then, what happened?”
I give her the generic description I heard on a TV ad last night.
She rolls her eyes. “You memorized that from the trailer.”
I grin, throwing my hands in the air. “Okay, you caught me. I missed most of it.”
A playful smile appears on Leah’s face. “Why?”
Her smile makes me bold. “Because there was a beautiful woman sitting next to me. I’m sure not a man in the theater remembers what the movie was about because of you.”
She laughs again. “Please. Is that the best pick-up line you got? It sounds like a line out of a Jane Austen novel. You need to work on your material, but don’t ask Grady. His are even worse.”
I shrug. “I’ve seen it work… in London.” In college, Lydia’s brother was the master of sweet-talking the ladies. Of course, that was one hundred fifty-three—maybe fifty-four—years ago. Leah’s right, I’m going to need new material.
Leah takes my hand and leads me out of the theater.
I smile. Or maybe I won’t.
Out in the cool night air, we walk in silence for several blocks, until I break the quiet. “So you love horror movies. What else do you love?”
“Lots of things. But my all-time favorite is lobster ice cream. They make it for the tourists, but I can’t get enough of the stuff.”
I wrinkle my nose.
“Have you tried it?”
“No.”
“Then don’t judge. Maybe we can go to Lizzy’s Ice Cream, and you can try it sometime.” She smiles. “Well, here we are.”
“I’d like to see you in if you don’t mind.”
Leah nods.
I shadow her into the building, through the lobby full of rowdy students enjoying their night of freedom.
A freckle-faced boy steps into our path. His bloodshot eyes snap to me and then returns to Leah. “Hey, I was waiting for you. This party is epic. You should come down later.”
“No. I don’t think so. Not tonight,” she says.
“More like never. Come on, babe. You’re breaking my heart here.” The boy slurs his words and teeters. He reaches for Leah’s hand but misses.
I imagine the exact sound his snapping neck would make, and a smile tugs at the corners of my lips. I stare down the inebriated boy. I’m able to tame the growl creeping up the back of my throat, but the lingering effects from the incident at the movie theater are still playing with my temper.
Freckle Face steps back, hands flying up as if to surrender.
With a shake of her head, Leah walks up the stairs, and I follow.
“Who’s he?” I ask, looking over my shoulder to see the boy stagger into the crowd.
“Nathan. He’s in the room across the hall.”
“Nice guy.”
“He’s only a moron when he drinks. Nathan’s harmless.”
Uh-huh.
At her door, she fiddles with her keys. Halfway inside, Leah turns. “Thank you.”
“Good night.”
She gives me a penetrating look. My eyes retreat, and her door clicks closed.
Instead of heading back to the solitude of my apartment, I wander the moonlit streets. The air is crisp and clear, but thunder in the distance hints at an approaching storm. I can’t help but see a connection. Despite the happiness Leah has ushered into my life, a heavy cloud of certainty in bruised shades of black and violet looms on the horizon. Heartbreak, abandonment, and loneliness are all certainties. Leah and I aren’t the same. At some point, she will die. Even if I somehow gain her affections, she won’t be mine for long. But that’s the way life is supposed to be—living, breathing, loving, and dying. I’m the screw-up—the anomaly in the master plan. Still, I continue to walk straight toward
her like a moth to a flame. My stride doesn’t slow even a little, because somewhere deep inside, I’ve decided the moments with her are worth the unending feelings of loss after she’s gone. My determination is undoubtedly ill-advised, but the course is set. I walk toward my apartment as the first raindrops begin to fall.
Late that night, the sapphire-eyed devil creeps into my dreams. He glowers from the deep recesses of my mind and laughs over Leah’s crumpled corpse, jarring me awake. I kick at my stifling blankets. The thick layers fight against me, then I shove them to the floor.
I get up, yank on my jeans, and grab a T-shirt from the heap in the closet. The four walls are confining, pressing in around me, and I bolt for the door, pulling on the shirt.
After swinging by Leah’s dorm and finding everything quiet, I begin my search for that devil, wandering from bar to bar. With his fondness for expensive scotch, the bars are as good a place as any to start. I know walking into one of the local establishments and finding him lounging at the counter, looking for other lives to screw with, is a long shot. But I have to try.
By closing time, all I’ve found is frustration. I walk down by the wharfs and drink in the calm, cool early morning air. The boats creak against their restraints as briny gusts rattle the rigging stretched along their masts. I perch on the edge of the weathered pier and dangle my legs.
Leah seems to lack the ability to identify danger, wanting to see the good in everything around her—even where it doesn’t exist. Peril could walk right up to her and blow smoke in her face, and she would wish him a nice day. Lydia was the same. She saw the good in me, and look what it cost her.
As the night relinquishes control to the coming day, the fishing boats around me sputter and roar to life, shaking me from my dark thoughts. The boats exit the mouth of the harbor and press on toward the open sea. I wonder how I can possibly manage to keep Leah safe.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Thanks for doing this for me today,” Ed says as he slides a stack of books onto the counter.
Yesterday, Ed requested a favor. He asks so little of me that I couldn’t say no. So today, a sunny Saturday, I showed up to work in old jeans, ready to paint the storefront of Rare Books a bright, cheerful yellow—Sally’s choice, for sure. I didn’t have any plans anyway. Three words assassinated my schemes: Looming. Art. Assignment. I feel better knowing Leah’s safely barricaded in her dorm room for a few days.
“No problem.” I grab the paint cans and metal scraper Ed left by the door.
Outside, I climb the ladder and begin scraping away years of built-up layers of paint and grime. My motorcycle parked across the street seems to watch my slow progress and beg for an afternoon ride.
Unfortunately, the repetitive work leaves my mind free to wander. At first, I’m able to concentrate my thoughts on the flurry of paint flakes making speckled puddles along the sidewalk, but soon enough, my mind wanders back to Leah. I miss her more than I should.
Close to one o’clock in the afternoon, Leah’s voice sings out from below. “Hey, just the guy I was looking for.” Her face shines up at me, brighter than the early June sun.
“I was going to call you this afternoon, but I don’t have your number,” she continues. “I was hoping I could coax it out of your boss.”
“Were you?” I have no doubt Ed would’ve handed over the keys to the castle if she asked in that tone followed by that smile.
“What are you doing tomorrow? It’s supposed to be brutal. Record-breaking temperatures, according to the weatherman. A bunch of us are heading to the beach.”
“I’m supposed to paint.”
Disappointment replaces her smile.
“But I can get out of it.”
Her smile returns. “I’m not going until the afternoon because of that assignment.”
“Brilliant. I’ll paint in the morning and go in the afternoon.” And keep an eye on you for the rest of the day. The blue-eyed devil won’t get within a hundred yards of her, not if I have anything to say about it.
“Okay, I can give you a ride. I was thinking of leaving around two. Or will that be too early?” Leah studies my face while waiting for my answer.
I point at the glimmer of black across the street. “I got my own wheels. So maybe you can ride with me.”
“You’ve got a motorcycle! Oh my word, I love riding. My dad had a Harley. He adored that bike. Called it Babe.”
The thought of having Leah’s arms around me is more than I can resist. “If you’d like, I could take you on a short ride now. I was about to take my lunch break.”
“That would be awesome.” She sighs. “But I should get back and work on that stupid assignment.”
“A ride might clear your head.”
“Okay. Twist my arm.”
“I have to put this stuff away.” Glancing at my dusty clothes, I add, “And clean up a bit, and then we’re off. I’ll be quick. I promise.”
Leah insists on grabbing the paint cans as I carry the ladder into the alley behind the store.
“Thanks. I’ll be ready in a few.” As I take the cans in one hand, I hold the bookstore’s back door open for her with the other.
“I’ll meet you in the front. It’s too nice a day to spend a moment inside that I don’t have to.”
I rush in, dropping the paint by the back door. I snatch a clean T-shirt out of my knapsack stuffed under Ed’s desk and head for the bathroom. I wash the grime off my face, arms, and hands, and change in a minute flat. On my way back through the office, I grab an old jean jacket forgotten by a past employee. Thank goodness Ed never throws anything away. From the faint scent of weed and the peace patch sewn on the sleeve, I guess it was Journey’s. But it’ll have to do.
At the front of the store, Ed leans against the counter and peers out the window.
“I was going to take my lunch break. Would that be all right?”
“She’s a cute girl.” He jabs his finger to the window.
“Yeah, she’s okay.” I lie. She’s so much more than cute. “I’ll be back in about an hour.”
Ed ignores me. “She. Is. A. Cute. Girl.”
“Around two.”
Ed rolls his eyes. “Take an extra-long lunch break.”
“I can’t. I want to get most of the scraping done this afternoon so I can take tomorrow afternoon off. If you don’t mind, that is. It’s supposed to be a hot one.”
“How long has this place looked like this?” he asks. “Years,” he says, answering his own question. “So if a pretty girl wants to spend time with you, take advantage of it. Someday, you’ll look like this.” Ed displays himself. I half expect him to twirl.
I laugh. “You’re still a handsome dude. I won’t be too long.”
Ed huffs. “Romance is wasted on the young. If I were your age and a girl like that wanted to go on a ride with me, I wouldn’t be back for hours. Work be damned.”
I can’t fight back the smirk. “Bye, Ed.”
“Have some fun for me,” he calls.
I grin back at him and head out the door. The heat from the afternoon sun blazes down.
Leah’s waiting in the shade. “Wow, you were quick.”
I smile, remove the helmet from the bike’s side hook, and hold it out to her. “This is for you.”
“Where’s yours?”
I knock my knuckle on the top of my skull. “I don’t need one. Hard head. And put this on, too,” I say, holding out the jacket.
Leah begins to protest as she tugs on the helmet. “But it’s gotta be close to ninety-five.”
I rub the sheer fabric of her sleeve between my thumb and fingers. “If something happens, this won’t be much protection.”
She gives a defeated sigh and takes the jacket. She sniffs the sleeve and scrunches her nose. “It smells sickly sweet, like…” She pauses to think. “Like pot.”
I mount the bike and start the engine. As the old Triumph rumbles to life, I tap the seat behind me. “The jacket isn’t mine. I found it in the office. Probably
Journey’s. Wasn’t he one of your favorites?” I grin.
Leah groans and rolls her eyes as she joins me—using my shoulder for support. She straddles the seat, and her legs press against mine. Her slender arms wrap around my waist. My heart quickens and feels as if it might lunge right out of my chest. Her breath warms the bare skin of my neck. As we begin to roll, Leah’s arms tighten. I chuckle. Ed’s right; an hour won’t be long enough.
The road winds northward, hugging the coast. Between long stretches of sun-baked forest, small villages with tall, white steeples play peek-a-boo along the rocky shoreline. The wind ruffles my hair, giving me the sensation of flying. The road snakes right, then left. Every sharp corner earns me a squeal, and Leah’s arms wrap tighter around my waist. Again, the woods begin to thin, and a town situated on a lazy flowing river unfolds before us. With shop-lined streets set against the backdrop of a spectacular view, it looks as though it’s been plucked off a postcard.
I slow the bike to the curb. “This is a pretty little spot. Whatcha say we have a look around?”
Leah fidgets on the seat. “If you say so. This is Wiscasset. My unchanged and very boring hometown. My mom still lives down that way, in the house I grew up in.” She points down a small side street.
“Let’s go.”
“I don’t know if that’s such a great idea.”
“I’d love to see where you were raised.” My small smile builds.
After a tense silence, Leah’s posture sags. “Okay, won’t she be surprised. Fourth house on the left.” The nervous edge to her voice mixes with a touch of resignation.
Within minutes, we pull up in front of a small New England–style farmhouse dwarfed by the two primordial oaks flanking it. A porch wrapping the first story is lined with bold-red Adirondack chairs that stand out in contrast against crisp-white clapboards. From the mailbox post hangs a white sign with matching red lettering: MAINE WINTERS POTTERY.
“She’s probably in her studio,” Leah says, swinging her leg over the side, and removing the helmet.
“She’s an artist, too?”
“Yup. Like mother, like daughter.” Leah slips off the jacket and lays it over the seat. “I think it’s safer if this stays here. My mom doesn’t need to think I’m a pothead.”