by Cora Brent
“Where are they?” Emma asked in a hushed voice and I saw she was staring at a photo of Chris and Heather on their wedding day.
I thought I’d cried all my tears for them already but no, I still had more. I tried to blink them away so Emma wouldn’t see and get upset. “They’re gone, baby.”
Emma considered the answer. Heather and Chris had been important to her too. Hopefully she would keep some memories of them and be able to tell Colin someday.
“I wish they weren’t gone,” she said and her lower lip trembled.
I set the teacups down and opened my arms to her. I stroked her hair, soft and dark brown, remembering how I’d once stroked hair just like it while a man I cared about cried on my lap and begged me to tell him when his agony would end. Emma would never know him. But I remembered him every time our daughter looked at me with his solemn eyes.
Emma’s sad mood didn’t last long. Roxie trotted over to kiss her face and she started giggling. Colin awoke from his nap and I sat holding him in the backyard while Emma played in the grass with Roxie. Nash’s dog always impressed me. Despite her size she was astonishingly gentle and enchanted by any attention Emma was willing to give her.
The afternoon passed quickly with no more troubling shadows. It was rare for me to take a complete day off but while sitting outside, listening to my daughter’s laughter and Colin’s happy squeals, I decided to take a break from whatever work awaited on my laptop. It would still be there tomorrow.
After an early dinner and quick baths we settled down in the living room to watch Beauty and the Beast. Colin nodded off on my shoulder and Emma let out a sleepy yawn as she rested her head against my arm. I thought about what a sweet moment this was. The only thing that would make it more perfect was if Nash was here to share it.
Now that I was thinking of Nash, I checked the time and figured out he must be in Oregon, probably on his way to that coastal town where he used to live. I spied my phone on an end table three feet to my left and reached for it while trying not to disturb the baby. Nash deserved to see this calm, happy scene just in case he was worrying about Colin. I would snap a quick photo and send it to him.
About two seconds after the photo finished sending to Nash a call came in. It wasn’t Nash.
“Where are you?” my mother demanded to know.
“I’m watching Colin for the weekend so Emma and I are staying at Nash’s house. I told you this the other day.”
“And where did that Nash character go?”
I sighed. “He had to go to Oregon and pick up the rest of his stuff. Mom, I already told you that too.”
She made a few more passive aggressive comments that I chose to ignore and then cryptically stated she needed to talk to me about something.
“Can it wait?” I asked, shifting Colin around because my shoulder was getting numb.
“Fine,” she huffed. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Give my baby girl a kiss from Grandma.”
“Good night, Mom,” I said, barely even curious about what kind of dire subject she needed to discuss. My mother meant well but she had a flair for drama. Perhaps she was feuding with the public library staff again over late fees.
I’d been planning to go to sleep early for once instead of burning the midnight oil. But once Emma and Colin were tucked away in bed I found that I was not even slightly tired so I wandered around the house.
The old house had a different feeling after the sun went down. The wooden floors creaked under my weight and every corner was thick with shadows. Old buildings possessed a certain kind of heaviness, as if burdened by the weight of all the human experiences lived within their silent walls.
I paused in front of a closed door. Nash always kept it closed. I expected when I opened it I’d find the room in exactly the same condition it had been in when its former occupants slept within. I was right.
Everywhere I looked there were signs of life interrupted. A woman’s pink sandal that had been dropped near the closet. A half empty bottle of water on a bedside table. And pictures, so many pictures. Pictures of the two of them, and far more pictures of Colin as if they’d been anxious to seize every moment of the painfully short time they’d been a family.
My throat felt thick with unshed tears.
I understood why Nash avoided this room, why he’d taken no steps to sort through any of its possessions.
I backed out and closed the door with a sigh and headed downstairs.
Nash’s dog was already curled up in her comfortable bed in the corner. She raised her head when I appeared and then lowered it when she saw I was alone.
My phone was still on the end table and when I looked at it I saw Nash had texted while I was roaming around upstairs.
Got the truck all packed. Will sleep for a few hours then will hit the road. Expecting twenty hours of driving. Thanks for the picture.
The words were informative and unsentimental. Somehow that bothered me. I shouldn’t expect more and I was pissed at myself for feeling any frustration. Nash and I had a clear understanding. There were no requirements except mutual friendship, respect, and mind-blowing sex.
“Nothing complicated about that,” I muttered, opting not to return the text since he mentioned he planned to get a few hours of sleep. I noted the time was a quarter to nine. Assuming he’d sleep for three or four hours and depart by one a.m., he’d be here around this time tomorrow if he drove straight through.
An ominous low growl sent sudden chills up my spine. Roxie had bolted from her sleepy corner and was now prowling beneath the living room window, teeth bared, hair visibly standing on end. Despite Nash’s claim that the German Shepherd was a good watchdog I’d never seen her react like this before.
“You hear something, girl?” I whispered, switching off the table lamp before approaching the window.
I pushed aside the eyelet curtains and saw nothing except the yellow glow of the old fashioned street lamp shining on my car where I’d parked it beside the curb. The porch lights of the house across the street were on but I saw no one there nor was there anyone passing in the street. A gust of wind rattled the high branches of the box elder tree in the front yard but there was no other movement.
“Must have just been a cat,” I assured the dog, patting her head. Roxie looked at me with doubt.
I double checked the front door lock while Roxie paced back and forth. Another growl rolled out of her throat and she bounded toward the kitchen. I found her staring at the side door and the noise escalated from a growl to a sharp bark.
“There was a man.”
My throat was dry and I was clutching my phone in my hand, prepared to call 911. Sofia Fetucci’s earlier warning kept playing in my head.
Roxie’s barking died down and she let out one final soft growl before sitting on her back haunches and looking at me as if to say, “I swear there was something out there.”
It took a fair amount of my courage to approach the door and push the curtain aside to peer through the glass panel. There was nothing out there.
Roxie nudged my hand with her wet nose.
“Good girl,” I praised her, scratching behind her ears. I watched for another few minutes but did not see or hear anything to be alarmed about. The dog’s senses were far more acute and in all likelihood she had sensed some passing night creature. A coyote, or maybe a flock of bats.
Roxie yawned and I checked the lock on the kitchen door before retreating. I offered the dog a biscuit from the box Nash kept in the pantry and she chewed happily. There was no noise from upstairs so apparently Roxie’s brief outburst had not awakened Colin or Emma.
All the doors and windows were checked one more time. Roxie returned to her bed and watched me with sleepy eyes. I patted her head once more before heading upstairs.
All was silent except for the soft noise of Colin’s crib mobile. The kids were both sound asleep. A sudden weariness overcame me and I raided my overnight bag, quickly changing and brushing my teeth. Nash’s room was tidy, his bed neatly
made. He’d finally stopped living out of his suitcases and placed his clothes in the closet and chest of drawers. I slipped between the cool sheets, inhaling the spicy and familiar scent of Nash’s aftershave that clung to the sheets. It was like inhaling the scent of sex itself and my hand traveled between my legs as I thought of him, wishing he was here doing the things that I was doing to myself.
Sleep came quickly after that although my dreams were a puzzling collage of past events that left me feeling disturbed in the morning.
Two months. That’s how much time had elapsed since I last got behind the wheel intending to drive straight through several states to get to Hawk Valley.
Back then I’d only known that tragedy had found me for the second time in my life. I didn’t know that once I reached Hawk Valley it would be impossible to leave.
The ten foot van I rented was larger than what I ended up needing. There wasn’t too much I wanted to take with me. Most of the furniture was unnecessary since I didn’t feel like finding a place for it in my dad’s house.
Dad’s house.
When I was a kid, being told I was going to ‘Dad’s house’ would often be met with a groan and a complaint. I preferred my mother’s small Phoenix condo to the sprawling old Victorian house with a view of the mountains. My father was never abusive. Just perpetually exasperated. And openly relieved when it came time to return me to my mother. It must have been a shock for him to go from part time dad to round the clock caretaker of a troubled teen.
Sometimes even now just before I dozed off I would jerk awake and bolt upright, positive that someone was shaking my shoulder in the darkness. There was never anyone there because it was only a memory. On that night, the night my world shattered, my father had awakened me shortly after two a.m. and the most shocking thing was that he was crying.
“Nash. Wake up, son. Something’s happened.”
The moments after that have been blocked out of my mind. I remembered seeing broken things around the house and hearing that I was responsible because after I heard my mother had been killed by her husband I began screaming and running around the house shattering everything I could get my hands on until my dad managed to physically restrain me. By that time I had to go to the hospital to sew up the hand I’d sliced open on a smashed window pane.
Chris Ryan didn’t know what to do with me. Our time together had always amounted to less than two months a year. Now suddenly he was a full time father to an incredibly angry kid. In the beginning he tried. He dragged me to a therapist. He encouraged me to make friends, to go out for sports. I found that I liked sports, that slamming into big guys on a football field or running around on a basketball court helped channel my aggression into something that didn’t involve blood. But friends were an enigma to me. Plenty of people wanted my company and it seemed like the more uncooperative I was the more they sought me out. Especially girls. I couldn’t be proud of the way I’d treated girls back then. I was a jackass.
But that didn’t mean I was willing to accept criticism from a man who’d kicked my own mother to the curb and then entertained a revolving door of girlfriends ever since I could walk. Chris Ryan could howl over my bad behavior all he wanted. I didn’t give a shit.
When I was sixteen he came barreling into my room after taking a furious phone call from a city councilman. The man’s teenage daughter had been sobbing in her room for three days because I’d told her I was both bored with her and screwing her best friend.
“Damn it, kid,” my father roared, throwing the door open so hard it left a dent in the wall. “Who the fuck ever told you it was okay to treat females like disposable objects?”
“Like father, like son,” I replied coldly.
His eyes narrowed. “You can’t go through life acting like a selfish piece of shit.”
“Why not? It’s always worked for you.”
We glared at each other. My fist clenched. If he came at me I was prepared to hit him. I didn’t want to. But I would. However, my father wasn’t a violent man. He was arrogant, thick-headed, rude and stubborn but not violent. Another fundamental difference between us.
“Figure out your own fucking dinner,” he said wearily and retreated from my doorway. “I’m going out.”
By my senior year I had plans. They didn’t involve remaining in Hawk Valley and struggling to sell shitty souvenirs. I had good grades and I was a decent athlete. A small college in Oregon had given me a scholarship. As my high school career drew to a close I was biding my time, aware that my father was both disappointed and relieved that I’d be leaving Hawk Valley behind. I just needed to keep from getting expelled for fighting in the meantime.
Meanwhile, the front office of the high school gained a pretty new employee when Heather Molloy started sitting at the reception desk. The guys all talked shit about what they’d do to that blonde pussy if they got close but Heather wasn’t really on my radar. I was juggling enough options as it was and she was older, in her mid twenties. But it was nice how she would always smile when she saw me coming.
“Oh no, what did you do this time, Nash?”
“Nothing I’m sorry for.”
She laughed. “What are we going to do with you?”
Then came a morning in early spring when I witnessed the neurotic tie-wearing class president shove his girlfriend into a locker so hard she cried out. I couldn’t take it. I clocked the guy, broke his nose. It was supposed to be my last straw. But Heather Molloy happened to be walking by and spoke up about the circumstances prompting my outburst. And so I was given a reprieve for stepping in to defend a fellow classmate. Thanking anyone for anything was never easy for me but I thanked Heather. In halting, awkward words I told her how much I appreciated her intervention. Heather smiled at me and touched my hand.
And that’s how it started.
We’d meet at the Hawk Valley State Park, five miles outside town. It wasn’t real popular with the locals. If people wanted to go hiking, fishing or sightseeing they’d drive up into the mountains, not picnic on a shallow hill beside a stagnant stream. Technically we weren’t breaking any laws but the situation wouldn’t mean good things for Heather if we were seen together. In the beginning we just talked. Most of the girls I knew saw me as some kind of wounded walking tragedy, something they aspired to fix. But Heather never pushed me to answer questions. That’s probably why I chose to open up to her.
For the first time since my mother’s murder I felt like I could breathe, like I could relax. And when I stepped over the line and kissed Heather she didn’t discourage me. She kissed me right back. But no matter how many times we’d remain out there in each other’s arms until long after dusk she never let things go much further.
“Nash, this shouldn’t be happening.”
I wasn’t used to being turned down and I was growing frustrated. I ran a finger up her arm and felt triumph over the way she shivered at my touch.
“It’s not illegal, baby. I’m eighteen and school ends in a month.”
She was breathing hard, her resistance crumbling as my fingers snuck under her shirt, exploring her smooth skin. “That doesn’t make it right.”
I eased her back on the blanket and covered her with my body. “I want you Heather. You want me too.”
She closed her eyes. “Maybe.”
We didn’t have sex. We hovered around second base and never advanced.
Then one day I walked into the store to work a shift behind the register. I hated the store but I needed a part time paycheck and my dad insisted that I couldn’t get it anywhere else.
He was there. So was she. I saw them through the glass, standing close together and talking earnestly and it was weird. My dad was a good thirteen years older than Heather. Hawk Valley was a small town but I’d never even realized they knew each other. Heather threw her head back in laughter and I wondered what the fuck they were talking about that was so funny. The only thing they could possibly have in common was me and I hadn’t said a word to him about her.
&nb
sp; “Nash!” Heather stopped smiling and seemed startled to see me. “I just stopped by to say hello. I haven’t been in here in so long.”
I looked around the store. “Not much to see.”
“Right.” She tossed her blonde hair over one shoulder and looked down. “I should get going. Bye Nash. It was nice catching up with you, Chris.”
“Good to see you, Heather,” my father answered and I saw the way his eyes lingered on her ass as she walked out the door. It made me want to puke.
“What was that about?” I demanded.
He was whistling. “What?”
“If you need a new conquest don’t look for one in Heather.”
My dad was amused. The bastard even grinned at me. “Sounds like someone has a crush.”
“You’re such an asshole.”
“Forget it, son. She’s out of your league.”
“And you’re about a decade too old to be in hers.”
Sometimes he liked getting under my skin. This was one of those times. Maybe he thought of it as payback for all the times I’d gotten under his.
Chris Ryan smirked at me as if I was nothing more consequential than a first grader chasing the girl he liked with a bunch of dandelions in my hand. “You can’t compete with me, little boy. Don’t even try.”
“Go to hell.”
I stalked out with the sound of his laughter trailing behind me.
Heather started coming up with excuses about why she couldn’t meet. Graduation loomed so I had other things on my mind anyway. Besides, what was I supposed to do, pack her in my suitcase this fall and bring her Oregon with me? But still, I passed the front office more than I needed to just for the chance to receive a smile from her and felt my heart flex every time it happened.