Letters in the Attic

by Talea Botha

  Ian

  “Well, that was unexpected,” I finally spoke, and turned to look at her. She kept staring straight ahead, her hands on the steering wheel.

  “Are you okay?” I asked when she didn’t reply. She blinked and then tears sprang to her eyes. She dropped her face into her hands and cried.

  I wasn’t sure what to do. I wasn’t comfortable around women, not if they were this emotional, and I had no idea what was going on. Shouldn’t she be glad? She’d solved her mystery. She should have been thrilled. I raised my hand carefully and put it on her shoulder, trying to be as sympathetic as I could. At my touch she leaned to the side until her face, still cupped in her hands, was against my chest, and her shoulders shook as she cried. The sudden closeness caught me off guard and my hands flew up, as if in protest, but when she didn’t move, and her sobs continued, I patted her on her back tentatively and desperately looked for something to say. I really didn’t know how to deal with all of this. I didn’t think this was what I was signing up for when I’d come along.

  “Don’t cry,” was all I could come up with, “It’s alright.”

  The sobbing stopped, and she pulled away. I was relieved.

  “I’m sorry,” she sniveled, digging in her handbag for a tissue, “I tried so hard to hold it in until we left.”

  “You’ve been wanting to cry all that time?”

  “Not all the time, only after the bit where she told us about what happened with her and Nicolo.” She dabbed at the stream of tears that were somehow still leaking from her eyes.

  I hesitated before asking, scared to reduce her to more sobbing.

  “Why are you so upset?”

  She wailed, and I flinched.

  “I had it all wrong, she never cheated on him.” She blew her nose.

  “Isn’t that a good thing? To know that he wasn’t hurt that way?”

  “No, it’s not. I mean, yes, it is. But he did it to her.” The crying picked up again and I fought the urge to get out of the car. Were women always this emotional? How did other men stand it?

  “There, there,” I tried, feeling foolish at my attempts to get her to stop, “She’s alright now though. She has Carlos, and she said she was happy. She looked happy. Very messy, which was a little shocking…” she smiled through her tears, and there was a glimmer of hope that the tears would stop, “but she did look happy.”

  “I don’t care about her.”

  I frowned again. All the riddles in the world were compiled into one being that was Serena. As soon as I thought I’d figured one thing out, the next started.

  “You’ve got me there, I have to be honest. You’ve really lost me.”

  “Don’t you see?” she asked dramatically, looking at me with green eyes almost leaning towards aqua. Small red curls were sticking to her flush, tear-stained cheeks, and the bit of make-up she’d applied that morning had started to make thin dark trickles over her freckles. I’d never seen anything more beautiful. Every feature was enhanced in her face, and the emotions spilled out of her like a pool overflowing when it rained for a week on end.

  “It’s all fine to know that Elsa wasn’t the problem. But what about him? Did you hear what she said? He cheated on her, and when she was finally on her way to happiness, he tried to mess with that too. He was the problem. He’s a problem Ian.”

  I thought about it for a second. I hadn’t looked at it from that angle, but yes, he did sound a little bit difficult. It must have been a stark contrast to the dreamy prince she’d imagined him to be until now. And then I suddenly realized what it was about.

  “Ah. Prince Charming turned out to be an ugly frog. I get it now.”

  Her lip quivered, and it was adorable, but I willed her not to cry again. I didn’t think I would be able to handle any more.

  “I’m never going to find it, am I?” she whispered.

  “Find what?” I dipped my head, trying to gain back her eye contact. I really wanted to get her to stop crying now. I also really wanted her to look at me with those intense eyes again.

  “True love.”

  I sighed. She was a princess, caught up in a fairytale. How did people become like that? Did their parents raise them differently?

  “You’ll find it when you realize how it works. Love in movies and fairytales really isn’t that realistic, if you think about it. They only show you the good parts, because the everyday side of love, and the difficult side of it, is boring. You can’t go by that as a rule of what happiness looks like.”

  “But what else do I have then? I’ve lived in other realities all my life. When other people ‘grew up’ I went to art school, and kept dreaming.”

  I kept quiet. I didn’t know how to answer that. I didn’t know how to make her feel better, but I didn’t want to make her cry again. Both for myself and for her.

  “I suppose we should go home then,” she said, checking her reflection in the mirror and pulling a face when she saw the smears of make-up, “we’ll go to the hotel, and get our bags. I bet you’re anxious to get back to work tomorrow too.”

  I stilled. I hadn’t heard from Will at all that morning. The last time he texted was the night before, letting me know that only half the stuff had been taken care of.

  “Will you wait here a minute? I’ll be right back.” I got out of the car and walked a distance away, ringing Will’s number.

  “Hey bro,” Will answered like nothing was wrong.

  “How far are you guys? She wants to go home.”

  “No, we’re not done yet! When does she want to leave?”

  “Like, now. That means we’ll be back by tonight.”

  “Stall, Ian. Please!”

  “Start getting the stuff out of there. I’ll do what I can, but I can’t promise anything. Even if I get it right, I can’t give you more than a day.”

  I hung up, feeling like my nerve endings were completely raw. I closed my eyes and fought to control my worrying, to not let it chew me up from the inside. My mind was racing, looking for a way to make this work. Then, as collected as possible, I walked back to the car, hoping she wouldn’t see through my straight-backed act.

  “How about this,” I said as casually as I could when I was back in the car, relieved to hear my voice sounding calm enough, “instead of ending it on such a low note, why don’t we just cut loose and enjoy ourselves for the rest of the day? We’re in Phoenix, after all, and for what reason would you come here again?”

  “I would come to capture some of the colors that the sun uses to paint the sky during sunset. It’s different here.”

  I’d forgotten that she was the impulsive type, someone who would do whatever she wanted just because she felt like it. But she hadn’t done something like this, ever, had she? She was a lost puppy in this city.

  “Okay, well, what I wanted to suggest was that we take the rest of the day off, and just relax. Do whatever we want around here. And then tonight…” I hesitated, thinking about the small amount of money in my account, the money she’d paid me, “tonight I’ll take you out. To a theatre, you seem like that kind of girl. What do you say?”

  She looked at me suspiciously, then a smile broke through, the way sunlight breaks through the clouds after a rain storm.

  “A theatre? You want to take me out?”

  “Just to take your mind off things. Then we can leave tomorrow.”

  The atmosphere in the car was lighter as we drove back to the hotel, but I still felt heavy. I was scared for Will, and the more he didn’t seem to understand the weight of the situation, the more scared I became.

  We decided to go to a park or something and have lunch on a bench, and then return to get ready to go out. We would have dinner at the hotel restaurant and then go to an opera. I hoped my budget would cover it.

  I was at a table in the restaurant, anxiously looking up ticket prices on my phone when she came down from the room. She’d pulled out a pink straight dress that hung just above her knees. With it, she wore turquoise boots like they had
in those cowboy shows, and she’d done her hair up and tied a matching bow around her head. She looked so out of place, and so different. So beautiful. The prices flashed on my screen and I glanced down, relieved that I could afford it.

  “You look… great,” I stumbled, not knowing how to say what I felt. I was no Nicolo, my words seemed disappointingly empty. But she blushed.

  “I didn’t really plan on going out when we were here, so I didn’t bring anything for the occasion. Do you think it will be alright?”

  I nodded, “Look, I’m wearing this, anyway, so we match.”

  “But you’re wearing a suit!”

  “Well, yes, but it’s an everyday work suit.”

  She laughed and we sat down to dinner.

  The opera was amazing. I didn’t care much for the music, it wasn’t the type of thing I would have done, but Serena was magical. I kept an eye on her throughout most of the performance, and she glowed like a candle in a black room. Her face had lit up when the curtains opened, and it didn’t change until it was over. And when it was done, she looked at me with those eyes of hers and breathed out a sigh of contentment. It was so sincere, every feeling that she felt was expressed in the most sincere form.

  When we walked out of the theatre, the darkness surrounded us like a blanket, and before I could think twice about what I was doing, I pulled her to me and kissed her.

  Electricity flowed through, and my skin tingled where she touched me. I heard her inhale sharply, but she didn’t pull away. She kissed me back.

  I felt shy in the car when she drove us back to the hotel. She was quiet, and I was scared that maybe I’d done wrong. We got ready for bed, still without saying much, but after the lights were out, I heard her shuffle on the other side of the room, and in the dark she moved her bed against mine. She got back in, and reached over the covers for my hand, and like that, holding hands, we fell asleep.

  We drove back after breakfast the next morning. I was worried about Will, and if everything would be fixed when we got back. I wouldn’t know how to explain it if they were still in her house. I prayed that they’d left the house as they’d found it.

  Halfway along, Will messaged me, asking for more time, and I felt like I was going to develop a fever. What did the boy expect me to do? I was an estate agent, not a miracle maker. My mind raced again, and I felt nauseous. I didn’t want this stress in my life, I couldn’t cope with it.

  “I’m going to stop at the next gas station to fill up. That fine?”

  “Sure,” I answered.

  “Great, because I really need the bathroom.”

  I saw my chance. It was low, but it was the last I had.

  “Why don’t you go on in then, and I’ll fill up?”

  She nodded, and five minutes later we pulled into the station. As soon as she disappeared around the corner I pulled the car to the parking area, and waited, hoping she wouldn’t come back too soon. She didn’t. After a while of waiting – women always took forever in the bathroom – she appeared and bent over at my window.

  “Will you drive?”

  “Of course,” I scooted over. The needle that stood close to empty would go unnoticed until we ran out. I didn’t know what I would say when that happened, but I decided to cross that bridge when we got there.

  We were about another hour down the line, in the middle of absolutely nowhere, when the car conked out.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, leaning over and looking at the dials.

  I squirmed as she squinted at the fuel meter.

  “But, we’re out of gas! How could this be?”

  I had to think on my feet. What would I say?

  “Wait, this can’t be right?” I leaned in closer, frowning seriously, “this doesn’t make sense at all! Has this happened before?”

  She shook her head, her eyes wide, and I felt so guilty.

  “Maybe you have a leak in your tank,” I added softly.

  “Well what do we do now?”

  “I’ll see if I can wave someone down, ask them to give us a lift to the gas station and back. Do you have an empty container?”

  She shook her head.

  “We’ll have to find someone who does, or phone a service. Who are you registered with for road assist?”

  “I’m not registered with anyone.”

  As bad as this was, it couldn’t have played out any better. This would give Will enough time to clear out of the house. I would text him the minute I got the chance.

  “I’ll see if I can wave someone down, you can stay in the car.”

  I got out, and the sun baked down on my neck straight away. I hadn’t thought of getting us stuck in the middle of the desert when I thought of this plan; I had just been thinking about Will. After a couple of minutes my suit was drenched with sweat, and it felt like the heat was pushing down on my shoulders with renewed vigor. Serena had rolled down the windows to try and coax a draught through the car, but there wasn’t even a slight breeze.

  After half an hour, I got in the car with her. There wasn’t a car in sight for miles. It turned out Monday wasn’t a great travel day for anyone, and now, thanks to me, it was a pretty bad travel day for us too. We waited.

  “So, you said you dated someone before?” I asked trying to strike up conversation to pass the time.

  Her face fell, and she looked down at her hands on her lap.

  “I’m sorry, I mean, if it’s okay that I’m asking. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s alright.”

  “No,” she said softly, “it’s alright. Yes, I dated someone before. His name was Mike. I met him through my best friend and we were together for the best part of a year.”

  “A good year?”

  “It was at first, he was everything I thought a man should be. Strong, ambitious,” she chuckled, “charming and devilishly handsome. He made me feel like the world revolved around me. Then things changed. He started working more, went away on trips, and it felt like he was never really there when he came back. I tried, I made an effort, but it felt like he was slipping through my fingers.”

  She looked so sad as she spoke, never looking up, and I felt bad for these unpleasant feelings I was reminding her of. But she carried on.

  “I found out a couple of months later that there was someone else. I found a message on his phone when he’d asked me to look up something on his map application. The message had come through and I opened it before I realized what had happened. I read it, and asked him about it, and he wasn’t even ashamed to admit it.”

  I kept quiet, not knowing how to respond. It made more sense now why the whole thing with Elsa had upset her so much. She was looking for someone who was real, and would treat her like she was too, and she’d hoped Nicolo would be that man. And he’d been exactly the same as her boyfriend.

  “I loved him, you know, I thought that it was all my fault, that I just hadn’t been good enough, that he found someone better because I was lacking. It took a lot for me to realize that he was lacking. Now all that’s left is to find someone that isn’t lacking. Someone that can actually treat a woman right. It’s not so much to ask, is it?”

  I shook my head. This girl, this beautiful, crazy, rare girl, looked at me with eyes that held the fear of a lifetime in it, and I took her hand.

  “You know, Serena, not all men are like that. If I had a girl like you, I wouldn’t ever, ever let her go. Not for anything in the world”

  She blushed, the red flush creeping up from her collar and coloring her whole face. She looked away and smiled shyly.

  “How about you, what’s your sad story?” she changed the topic, “why haven’t you found love?”

  “Well, my parents died when I was 19, and I had to start working to support my little brother. He was only 12 then, and took it all very hard. I couldn’t let them take him away from me, we were all we had.”

  Her eyes widened and she squeezed her hand around mine.

  “I just haven’t really had the time since then for anything e
lse. I’ve been working late hours to make ends meet, I still often fail, and I’m trying to keep my brother out of trouble. He sort of fell into the wrong crowd, no matter how hard I’d tried to keep him on track, and between him and work there really isn’t time for anything.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

  CHAPTER 7

  Serena

  I had it all wrong. Ian wasn’t nearly the man I thought he was. Suddenly everything made sense to me, why he never seemed to relax, or stopped working, and why he always looked so serious. I couldn’t even imagine what it must have been like for him, having to fight for money, and console a child when he himself had lost just as much. That’s why he was going on about money, and ate like he was starving. The poor man. I felt guilty, suddenly, for everything I’d thought about him, for blaming him for being negative about things. He was a strong man, someone who deserved my respect, and the fact that he was bland was something I could overlook. Where could there be space for color in a life that was painted black by the death of your parents?