by Brown, Tara
“I HATE THE RAIN!”
He ignored me and walked along the parking lot.
I wiggled and flailed, but it wasn’t doing any good. After a minute, I hung there limp, soaked, and breathing heavily. He carried me until we were under a shelter and placed me on the ground. “Put your coat on.” He held it out to me, giving me a smirk. “Trust me, you’re going to like it.”
“You sound like a pervert.”
“I think I’ve proven I am not a pervert.”
I was shivering and angry, but I snatched it from him and put it on. My fingers struggled with the buttons. He pushed my hands out of the way and did them up for me. “You are a pain in the ass. I knew you would be the minute I met you.” He lifted my chin. “I also knew you aren’t what you pretend to be.” He was fumbling with the buttons.
“JUST STOP!” I fixed them.
He threw his hands in the air and walked off. I peered back at the car and then to him. He had the keys. I sighed and trekked behind him.
He turned back toward me, cocking a dark eyebrow. “Just trust me. I realize this is hard for you, but come on.”
“Why do you think it’s hard for me?”
“You’re making it hard and I can tell you don't trust easily.”
“Whatever.” I looked around at the lighthouse and pissing rain.
“What is your problem?”
My eyes widened. “Are you kidding me right now? You walk in on me changing, drag me to an old guy’s room and show me the sweetest thing I have ever seen. Then you vanish for three weeks. Which I found out was because your grandpa died, and I am sorry for that. But then you come back and make me get in the car and don’t talk to me except to ask about my crack addiction. Meanwhile, you’re dragging me out into the middle of nowhere in the worst rainstorm I’ve ever seen, and holding me hostage on a big rock. What is your problem? What did I ever do to you? Did my dad make you do this? Are you my Yoda? Is this rainstorm a spiritual journey?” I wiped the rain from my face.
“No.” He smiled and reminded me of the boy he was in the dining hall with the ladies. “I knew you’d say no if I asked. I called Hattie while I was away to ask for your email address, but she said no email. She told me everything you’d done. She said you can’t get out of your own way and that you sabotage all the good things in your life. I figured this was the best way to get you here. I figured you needed a friend who would help you get out of your own way.”
“She just told you everything about me?” I hated that.
“Yeah. She thought it was pertinent.”
“I hate that she told you all the bad stuff about me, but I hate it more that you decided to tell me you knew. And I hate Hattie right now. And I hate the goddamned rain. So screw you and Hattie. Take me home, NOW!”
He laughed harder and grabbed my hand. “She told me you would say that.”
I hated that too. I turned to storm back to the car, but I looked back at him and groaned. He still had the keys and had started making his way down the rocky pathway.
I waited as long as I could under the shelter but then I was freezing. Enraged, I kicked a rock and stomped over to follow the path he’d taken, closer to the lighthouse. I climbed up a staircase of slippery rocks and when I got to the top, I lost all the anger in me.
“Oh my God.”
He was smug, sitting down below on a large boulder. “Remarkable, isn’t it?”
“Don’t talk to me.” I grumbled and walked toward the lighthouse. Below it were weird wide and flat rocks outlining the choppiest sea I’d ever seen. The rain was letting up, but the wind there at the top of the rocks was intense. I fought the cold breeze and walked beside the lighthouse, staring out at the swells, stunned by the sheer intensity of the ocean. It went on forever.
I sat on a wet rock and let it overwhelm me. As far as I could see, we were surrounded by the strange boulders, making it seem like an alien planet, and the open sea. I glanced back at the fishing village and the lighthouse and felt a thousand emotions.
None of them were self-pity or hate.
The sight stunned me out of my own bullshit.
I wanted to be pissed about it, that Hattie and stupid Aiden had been right, but I couldn't. Not there.
“The story is that there was a terrible storm in the 1700s, probably a hurricane. It was October and the hurricane was apparently really bad. The settlers of the cove found a young girl washed up on the rocks as the storm ended. She was alive, a miracle. She didn’t remember her name so the family who took her in named her Margret, Peggy for short. She was the sole survivor of a shipwreck on the rocks. The waves had washed every other trace of the boat back to the ocean. She married a man from the cove and became Peggy of the Cove. Now they call it Peggy’s Cove because there are some who say they have seen Peggy as a ghost, walking the shoreline here in storms, searching for her family.”
I glanced at him as he walked and sat beside me.
“She was young when it happened. Maybe your age.” His eyes were passionate and intense as he spoke, even in the rain, looking like a drowned fisherman. His dark hair was shaggy as though it needed a cut. In the blue skies, his eyes were bright blue, but there on the gray rocks with the gray seas, his too were gray, surrounded by long inky lashes. He stared out at the waves but spoke softly, “Why did you try to kill yourself?”
“What!”
“You say that a lot.” He sighed. “I saw the bandage and Hattie told me your friend said you cut yourself. She thought you were a cutter, but that scar is deep. Cutters don’t normally go that deep, and you only have one scar. Cutters have lots of little scars. They only need a little cut to feel again or to let some of the poison in them out.”
It was freaking me out how much he knew about cutters. I held up a hand. “Okay firstly, not a cutter. I’ve never cut myself. I don’t care what anyone says. I once passed out from getting a piece of glass pulled out of my foot. Out cold. Secondly, Hattie has no right to go gossiping about me. She doesn’t have the story. She has Sheila’s version and Sheila hates—hates me.” I choked on the word “hate.”
He looked at me and I felt seen for the first time in a long time. “Tell me the story.”
“I don’t even know you.” A rogue tear escaped my eye, rolled down my cheek, and joined the raindrops.
“That's the whole point of this, getting to know each other. I want to get to know you. I need to know what it is about you that's consuming me.”
I was consuming him?
Oh my God.
Avoiding the comment, I focused my eyes on the water. I couldn’t face him or the stupid story.
“Please tell me the story.”
“I stole a lip gloss. I’ve never stolen a thing in my life, but I did it. I wanted to try. Apparently, I’m a sucky thief because I got caught. I lied to my dad about it, went to a party, got very drunk. I think I must have fallen into a rosebush and got this wound. I woke up at the hospital where they said I had drugs in my system and everyone sort of looked at me like I did this to myself. But I never do drugs and I would never hurt myself. It made no sense.”
He was still staring at me. I could see it in my peripheral. “What else?”
“That’s it.”
“That got you sent to the other side of the country?”
“And to a different country.” I couldn't forget that part.
He sighed. “Tell me the truth about it.”
“What do you mean?” I was lost. “That is the truth.”
“I wish you believed you could trust me.”
For whatever reason, maybe the seriousness in his gray eyes, I did trust him. I didn’t even know why. Maybe it was the way he did crazy things, sporadically, like drag me to Jack’s room and show me that photo or bring me there. I liked him, and for no reason at all, or maybe for every reason.
I couldn't take my eyes off him. “My stepmom hates me. And I mean hate. She told me she would put drugs in my room and call the cops.” Another tear slipped down my cheek.
“I think she might have drugged me to get rid of me. She knew I had pushed my last button with my dad, and I think she did this to me on purpose.” I held out my wrist. “I’m not brave enough to cut myself like this. I can’t even worm a hook. I tried once, big mistake. I can’t hurt things, not even me. I think she drugged me and I hurt myself in the roses, and she lied to my dad.”
His eyes narrowed. “You really think she would do that to you?”
“Yeah.”
“You don't think maybe it’s all your drinking that’s making you suspicious and in denial about the harm you’re doing to yourself?”
“No! Who the hell do you think you are?” I was floored. I stood up and stormed off in the hideous rain.
I got to the gift shop before he grabbed my arm. “Fin, wait.”
I shoved him off me. “DON’T TOUCH ME!” I turned and stormed into the restrooms. They smelled funny, reminding me of an outhouse at a campground. I’d only been in one once, but it was enough to damage my nose permanently. I sat on the toilet with the lid down and sobbed. He was the first person I’d told the real story to and he doubted me. Everyone doubted me.
Did I have a liar’s face? Or had I just always been so bad that I deserved all of this?
What kind of person was I that strangers instantly assumed I was dishonest?
I hated that he thought that.
The door opened and he walked in. “Fin, I just wanted to be sure you weren’t a danger to yourself. That's all. I swear. I believe you. But I had to know, before we—well, I just had to know. I believe you.”
“No, you don't. I can tell,” I shouted over the door.
He peered over the door at me. His hair dripped down his face. “I brought you here because I knew you needed to see it in the rain. Only in a storm can you imagine seeing a girl being washed up on the rocks, losing everything. It’s the only way to experience Peggy’s Cove. You have to see it the way it was that day, the day she lost everything.”
He had too many feelings.
“Leave me alone.”
“I can’t. I like you. I know I shouldn't. I don't even know you.” He stepped back, opening the door and coming into the stinky stall with me. “No matter how hard I tried to focus on my dying grandfather, I couldn't. I was stuck on you. Your face, your troubled eyes, your scar, every bit of you plagued me.”
“We can’t do this. We don't even know each other, and I have a horrid feeling you’re some bipolar dude who’s off his meds for something really intense. Guys our age don't say things the way you do and they don't feel out loud.”
“Bipolar?” He seemed upset but nodded. “I guess we should spend more time getting to know each other. Two half days is silly.” He laughed, maybe at himself, before he held out his hand. “Friends then? At least until you realize you’re as crazy about me as I am about you.”
“Fine.” I laughed and put my hand in his. “I think you’re just crazy, but friends works for me.” He helped me up and wrapped his arm around my shoulder. “Yes, we will be amazing friends. Now let’s go get you a dry shirt. Not that I don't love this one.” He glanced down at the open raincoat.
“Oh my God.” I realized my shirt was see-through and pulled the wet jacket over my chest more.
“And maybe something hot. It’s freezing out there. Did you like it though?”
“Besides your obvious insanity, this place is pretty cool. Thanks for showing me this. Even in the rainstorm I see what you mean, about Peggy.” It was all I was going to give him.
He smiled. “Thanks for being a pain in the arse and making it more worthwhile.”
“I’m not a pain in the arse.”
“You are. But you’re my pain in the arse. Let’s go get a hot beverage.”
We walked out of the ladies’ room, getting frowns from the old ladies walking in. I sighed. “I wish I had my phone. I wish we could take a picture of this.”
“So you can put it on Instagram?” He mocked me.
“No.” I nudged him. “Shut up.” It totes was, but I wasn't going to tell him that.
When we sat down at the café to eat, he ordered for us both. I wasn't a fan of it but he smiled and explained, “You have to try East Coast clam chowder, the white. The red is too tomatoey for me.”
“Fine, but if I don't like it, I’m ordering a burger.”
“Deal.” He nodded once. “So what is your dad like?”
“Dumb.” It was the truth.
“That’s mean.” He said it firmly.
“I know. But it’s true. He sees me through his wife’s eyes and she hates me. So they hate me.”
“Where’s your mom?” He gave me the look through the lashes.
“Dead.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.”
“Like that’s stopped you before.” I chuckled bitterly. “She died when I was very young. I don't really remember her. I have stories that I’ve made into plays to watch in my mind. Those are my memories.”
“I’m really sorry.” He reached forward, taking my hands in his.
“Thanks.” I let him hold my hands for a moment.
“You need to stop caring how people describe you or speak of you. How others see us is none of our business. It’s their opinion and their thoughts and their problem.”
It was the smartest thing a boy had ever said to me.
Why do people always think pretty teenaged girls are cheerleaders?
What the hell is there to be cheery about anyway?
Chapter Six
It’s Real to Him so It’s Real to Me
I sat at the table with Jack and Millie and listened to his story, “Our children never understood our desire to leave London behind when we retired. But we had seen the great city flourish, starve, suffer bombs, and endured all the royal weddings one could manage. We had no more desire to be part of it. We needed inspiration and freedom. I’m ninety-two years old. I believe we have made it thus far because of the escape we made from our stifling lives. Our children were old enough to manage the expectations of our families, so we did the only thing we could think of. We ran.”
Millie sipped her tea, as always making me nervous at the way her hands shook. “We have traveled through Africa, Australia, Europe, and Asia. But Canada is our favorite. There is a peace and quiet here that you don’t see anywhere else. People here are so private; they don’t pry and paparazzi isn’t chasing you and taking note of everything you do. You’re not watched and stalked constantly. London has become so overcrowded. You have to go into the country to be alone. Here, I have actually been alone in Halifax on the street. And when people passed by, they greeted me. It’s like London in the earlier years.”
I loved how they talked. Everything was Shakespeare, even if it was nonsense or nothing at all. Their imaginations were rampant—worrying about paparazzi. I shrugged. “I haven’t seen much besides this place and Vancouver. Where have you been here?”
Jack smiled. “We have seen Victoria, Regina, Ottawa, Old Quebec, Charlottetown, and Halifax. We love both coasts.”
“This side of Canada does seem nice, but I like the Wild West better. ‘Course I haven’t seen much of Halifax. I think there might be a ban against my ever having fun here.”
Millie’s eyes darted to the right and a coy smile crossed her lips. “I doubt that very much, my dear.” I followed her gaze to Aiden entering the dining room. He nodded his head to the right and walked out the patio door.
Jack chuckled softly. “Well, I believe you have just been summoned. Mustn’t keep him waiting. He despises being kept waiting. It runs in the family.”
“Whatever.” I shrugged, acting as if it didn’t matter that he wanted to see me on the deck. But it did. Since the day at Peggy’s Cove, we had become fast friends.
There was something about him, something frightening. He was real. He wanted to talk about real things, like my scar or my father and Sheila or my friends. He talked like he was so much older than I was. His proper English was intimidating. H
e never just small talked about celebs or gossip. He was intense, always. At first I’d thought it was an English thing, but none of the Brits in the retirement home were like that. He was different. Scary different.
I smiled. “Well, enjoy your tea.” I got up and walked to the deck, slipping through nonchalantly.
Aiden was sitting on the railing. His hair was cut and styled, no more shag. He was dressed oddly as well, like a guy from a Hugo Boss ad. Tight black dress pants and a dress shirt with a sweater vest overtop. He was extra preppy, but it suited his lean European body type. It was weird seeing him that way. Normally, he was casual in jeans and tee shirts.
He seemed funny too, distant. He gave me a smile, but I could see the intensity through those inky lashes as his eyes stayed dark under his brow. “I have to leave again, but I was wondering if I could write you.”
“Yeah, my email is super easy to remember. It’s—”
“No.” He held up a hand, laughing. “No, I mean real letters. Can I write you real letters?” He laughed at the face I was making. “And you will write back.”
“By hand?” I wasn’t sure I could do that. “I don't even know how to mail a letter.”
“Of course, by hand. And I’m sure Hattie can help with the mailing process.”
“Why do you have to go?”
He stepped closer to me. “Family obligations. I don’t want to go.” He held out his hand and I took it. He pulled me down the running trail along the lakeside. We strolled down the path, not talking. It was weird. Normally, when we went walking we talked, but I didn’t have anything to say. Nothing that could top his leaving anyway. It was so sudden and for us being just friends, how did I tell him I would miss him?
He stopped at a large rock and looked down on me. He really was quite tall. I had to crane my neck when we were next to one another.
He ran his hands down my cheeks, brushing the hair out of the way and cupping my jaw. It had been five weeks since we met, and I had imagined every second of what was about to happen. He dragged his thumb across my lower lip.
My lips parted, but he didn’t do it. He stayed, hovering over me and staring at my lips. “There are so many things I want to do right now. But I have to go.”