My Kind Of Crazy

by Nadene Seiters

  “I understand that there has not been a funeral yet for Nathanial D’Salvatore yet for obvious reasons, but we all need the opportunity to mourn.” Anastasia draws in her breath and holds it beside me. I’m not sure if she’s doing it to keep herself from bolting out of the room or to keep tears from forming. “He was a wonderful man with excellent values as a friend, lover, and father. I would like to take a moment of silence for Mr. D’Salvatore, and then afterwards I forbid anyone from speaking of the matter! While we all mean well, I’m sure that Anastasia would appreciate some space from the tragedy.” Mrs. Hash bows her head, and I see most of the other guests bow their heads at the same time.

  A man with his arm around a pretty, young woman stares in my direction over the bowed heads, and I return the glare. I’m not sure who he is or why he’s pissed, but it’s obvious the brute wants to knock me out. As soon as heads come back up after a short moment, the man’s gaze flicks to Anastasia before it turns docile again. She hasn’t noticed him, and I figure it’s a good idea not to say anything to her about the matter.

  “Whew, I hope that does it. If I see one more casserole…” Her voice trails off as the pretty woman from the brute’s side ambles up to us with two glasses in hand. I glance around for her boyfriend or husband, but I don’t see the man.

  “So this is the infamous Jonah Quinton!” The young woman with blonde hair and brown eyes hands Anastasia one of the glasses of champagne and holds her hand out to me. I take it upon instinct and shake gently.

  “And you are?” I inquire, attempting to sound polite. Anastasia seems to have been forgotten and turns her attention towards the crowd. But not before I catch the glimpse of jealousy flashing across her face. She has nothing to worry about. This young woman has a man, and she’s not my type. She’s a little too insidious for my taste.

  “I’m Cassandra Cooper.” Neither one of us miss the hiss that escapes from Anastasia. When she turns to look at Cassandra, I don’ t miss the fear in her eyes.

  “Sorry, stubbed my toe.” I want to point out to her that she’s not walking, and she’s wearing flats, there’s no way she could have stubbed her toe. But a mask slides down over her face, one that I’ve never witnessed before.

  “It’s quite alright, sometimes these floorboards just come right up and getcha! Don’t ask me how I know.” Cassandra’s smile is false and misleading. I see a glimpse of her husband as he tries to push through the people to get to us, but Anastasia doesn’t see him approaching.

  “Would you excuse us for a minute?” It wasn’t until Cassandra said Cooper that Anastasia hissed, so I assume she doesn’t want to see anyone from that family. I take her free hand in mine and lead her towards the doors that open up to the backyard of the family’s estate. Her drink sloshes around in the glass, and barely manages to stay in.

  I pull her down the back steps and into a younger crowd of people who are dancing unabashedly on the lawn. They’re keeping it PG considering their parents are around, but the music is anything but. A girl probably four to five years younger than me attempt to pull in for a dance, and I politely decline.

  “What was that for?” Anastasia looks more than a little rattled and holds her glass up high so that a pair of very young kids doesn’t knock it over.

  “Why don’t you like the name Cooper?” I’ve decided that now is the time for this conversation. Apparently she has not. The mask is carefully drawn back over her face, and I’m given that false, sick smile.

  “It’s nothing, just a bad memory from my younger years. I had a run in with Henry Cooper once.” The sleeve of her fluttering shirt falls down to her elbow, and I reach forward to pull it back up to her wrist gently. Those scars are not meant for anyone else’s eyes.

  Anastasia’s look of discomfiture and gratitude has my chest tightening. I feel an overwhelming need to protect her from whatever it is she’s running from today. I lead her a little more ceremoniously and gently towards a picnic table where I set my glass down, and put hers next to my own. She sits and crosses her legs demurely at the ankles.

  “Are you going to tell me about it?”

  “No.”

  “Anastasia,” The way I say her name has her looking up at me with hurt on her face. “I need to know what I’m protecting you from. Don’t get me wrong, I won’t stop doing it even if I have not a clue why, but I’d really like to know.” She fidgets next to me. First it’s the right leg twitching just enough to move her pant leg, and then her fingers clench and unclench as if she’s determining whether or not to punch someone.

  “I can’t tell you here, but maybe when we get back to the hotel. Do you want to go now?” I look at the food being brought out in bowls and on platters, and wonder if she’s up to a quick meal before we ditch this party. Obviously we’re both running from memories and the present right now. I still can’t shake the feeling that most of the people here are staring at me as if they’re waiting for me to snap.

  “Do you want to eat first?” She looks a little on the pale side, but she agrees.

  When we’ve successfully navigated the crowd to the buffet table and successfully made it back to the picnic bench, it’s still empty. There are several more around it, but not a single soul has sat down. That is, until Mrs. Hash and her younger, biological son sit down across from us. The table fills up quickly with a few more of the old timers from town, but the people around our own age stay back.

  “Did you like the potato casserole, dear?” I recognize the woman from the pharmacy, and judging by the look on Anastasia’s face she didn’t eat that particular casserole. Yet she puts on a genuine smile and lies through her teeth to Mrs. Evans.

  “Oh, I definitely did. But Jonah here ate more than his fair share, so I didn’t get to eat a lot of it.” I feel like kicking her under the table for bringing me into the lie, but I pull off a smile that is only half as genuine as Anastasia’s.

  “I wouldn’t have eaten more than my fair share if you hadn’t-” She must understand my tone and she’s not against kicking a person under a picnic bench table. My grunt of surprise has everyone looking at me. “Stubbed my toe.” I mutter, piling in a mouthful of the best potato salad I’ve ever had.

  After that, the discussion continues on about food and how delicious everything is that Mrs. Hash made, and some of the other women brought along. I haven’t forgotten about Anastasia’s past seeming to catch up with her, but she’s putting on a good show, or it has slipped her mind. Out of the corner of my eye to my left, I catch a glimpse of Cassandra being led to the table by her husband.

  Gently, I put down the deviled egg in my fingers and wipe them on a napkin. Then I act irrationally and possessively by putting my hand on Anastasia’s thigh. She startles, but no one notices and her eyes search my intent. She must see them over my shoulder, and the strangest thing happens. I had no idea that the warmth could seep out of a person’s jeans within an instant, and her leg muscle tenses beneath my palm.

  The look of absolute terror on her face chills me, and I realize that whatever happened with Henry Cooper is much more serious than a playground scuffle. This man hurt her in a way that changed her as a person, and I don’t intend to stand around while he acts as if it hadn’t happened. My hand starts to slide off her thigh, and she reaches down hurriedly to grab it.

  “Mrs. Hash, this was a wonderful party! But I’m feeling a little under the weather today.” The way she bolts up from the table has her hitting her knee on the top, and the glasses almost tumble over. I hear a mumbled apology, and then she’s dragging me through the crowd. We leave behind a bunch of stunned, confused faces, and before I know it she’s climbing into the driver’s seat, and I’m attempting to pull her out.

  “You’ve had too much to drink!” I tell her as I finally wrestle her from behind the wheel. Her eyes are wild with their fear, and I close the door, pushing her against the car so that she cannot get away.

  “What are you doing?” She screeches at me. I realize that holding her down is only making
whatever is riding her worse, so I let her go and watch as she retreats from me to the front of the car.

  “Tell me what’s going on, and I’ll take you back to the hotel room.” Unless I deem the incident bad enough for relation by smashing that asshole’s head into the ground, over and over again.

  “Please, just let me drive! I just want to home.” The defeat in her voice makes me sick, and I wonder if she’s talking about the farmhouse, her home in the city, or the hotel room. Either way, I’m going with her.

  “I’ll take you wherever you want to go, just get in the car and tell me what happened. Do I have to kill him?” Her eyes widen at the seriousness of my voice, and I think she finally realizes what it is that makes people afraid of me. I’d be willing to kill someone for her without hesitation. Some may call that not wrapped too tightly; I just call it defending someone I love. Do you love her?

  I’m shocked to hear Tom’s voice interject into my thoughts, and I don’t answer his question. She finally makes it into the passenger seat and I make myself comfortable next to her. No one is out front so thankfully none of them can see her pale, sickened face. Anastasia doesn’t say a word as we head back to the suite, and I don’t push her anymore.

  Just as we pass by the cluster of stores in the center of town, Anastasia finally pipes up.

  “Turn around!” She tells me, and I oblige without asking why. Then she points into the cluster of stores, and I turn in. I’m heading for the grocery store, but she makes me park outside of the liquor store. I have a feeling this is not a good idea, but she’s an adult, and I’m not her keeper. Not when it comes to vices she wants to indulge in.

  I don’t go in with her, and I don’t ask her what’s in the paper bag when she comes out. Her eyes are distant as she stares out the windshield, and I furrow my brow when it begins to rain. When we left the party it was bright and sunny, but the clouds have rolled in during the short amount of time it took to get to the liquor store.

  A low rumble of thunder reaches my ears, and so does the sigh from Anastasia. By the time I pull up to the hotel, the rain is pouring down hard. I guess it was a good thing we left that party anyway, or we’d both be more soaked than we’re going to get heading for the suite. She clutches the bag to her chest as we dodge and weave through the rain, hopping over a particular large puddle beside the side walk.

  Her cheeks are flushed from the exertion when I open up the door and slip inside. Without hesitation, she pulls a plastic cup from one of the cupboards and pulls the vodka from the bag. “Whoa, don’t you think you should take it easy there slugger?” She’s got half the cup full by the time I gently pull the bottle away.

  “I’m adult, and I’m legal, I can drink however much I want when I want.” That sounds like a person with a problem. “But you’re right,” she says quietly. “Do you want half?” She had more champagne than I thought if she’s offering vodka to a crazy man on antipsychotic medication.

  “No, I can’t drink that much.” Her eyes crinkle at the corners as she gives me a wicked smile, and she takes a large swig. It looks like about two shots worth.

  “Too bad, because now I can’t pour it back into the bottle.” Why not just a few sips, Jonah? I really wish Tom would just go away. He’s more than a bad influence. He’s going to get me killed someday.

  “If you don’t slow down on that, I’m going to have to give you a cold shower later.” The smile only gets wider, and she throws her head back and laughs. It’s not the sound I’ve heard before. This is the sound of a broken person.

  “If you want to get in my pants, just say so, Jonah Quinton. You don’t have to give me a cold shower to do it!” No, just a few more sips of that and she’ll probably dance naked on the countertop for you if you’d like. Maybe that pretty mouth- I just him off. I had no idea I could do that, but it’s like he’s just gone in that instant. Thoughts like that will land me in jail or worse, and Anastasia’s too important to just take advantage of.

  “Why don’t you have a seat on the couch and I’ll get you a glass of water to go with that?” I attempt to pluck the cup from her hands, but she’s too quick. The alcohol has not settled in enough yet for me to gently overpower her, so I let her have it. While she’s focused on trying to find something to watch for the rest of the evening on television, I busy myself with putting the bottle of alcohol on the highest shelf I can find. She’ll have to get a stool to stand on to get at it again, and I’m pretty sure that, after that cup, she won’t be able to sit on a stool much less stand on one.

  Then I grab two plastic cups of ice water and settle onto the couch beside her. I’ve seen her do this twice now under two different stressful situations, and part of me feels bad for getting her started with the champagne. I’ll have to remember that for her alcohol is a mind-eraser, not just a recreation to partake in occasionally.

  “How did you lose your virginity?” The question takes me off guard and startles me, so I look at her as if I didn’t hear her right. She repeats the question a little louder with a giggle and takes another swig of the alcohol as if it’s water. Maybe I should try to take it now.

  “Where are you going with this?” I stare at the strange, British television show playing so I don’t have to show her how embarrassed I am by the question.

  “It was just a simple ‘get to know you’ question, Jonah! What’s the big deal?” I narrow my eyes as I pick up the glass of water and take a sip from it. My mouth has suddenly gone dry, and I have a feeling talking about sex openly with Anastasia is not a good idea right now. But I do it anyway. I never said I was smart.

  “Well, I lost it to a girl in high school. We were fourteen and thought we were in love. It was quick, messy and happened in the back of my mother’s station wagon. How about you?” The large gulp of alcohol she takes tells me this is not going to be a pleasant story. She’s starting to look glassy eyed, and almost drops the cup on the floor.

  “I was in love once, too. Or so I thought.” I have to lean in to hear her, not because she isn’t speaking loudly, but because her words are slurred. “Benjamin Cooper was his name, everyone in his family called him Benny. I called him Ben because I thought that sounded more grown up.” She giggles, and yet I hear the pain laced in that sound. My fist curls at my side as I wait for her to go on. I feel like we shouldn’t be having this conversation while she’s trashed, but maybe it’s the only way she can actually talk about it. Whatever it is.

  “I knew him four months when I had just turned fifteen, he was seventeen. I guess I should have realized something off when a seventeen year old was interested in me, Anastasia D’Salvatore, the wishy-washy little girl. That’s what he called me once you know.” Her finger points in my face and I nod along like a fool. This isn’t going anywhere pretty. I can tell by the look in her eyes.

  “Anyway, he wanted to have sex, and I said no.” I feel relief flood me, but she goes on. “Then he said he was going to break up with me, well, not in those words, but you know. I knew what he meant. So I thought that if I showed him I was grown up enough to have sex with him, it would show him I was ready for a serious relationship.” The hairs on my arms rise as I start to figure out where this is going.

  “So you had sex with him, and it sucked.” She blinks when she looks at me and slugs me in the arm with a smile.

  “No, silly! Not Ben Cooper. I mean, I thought it would be him, when I got to the barn, but he just held me down while Henry Cooper showed him how it’s done right. Now you know.” To say I’m enraged would be an understatement. No amount of medication is going to make me feel better about what she just said. Alcohol won’t cut it either. Blood and a dead body in the woods might, though. It’s not until the ringing in my ears starts to subside that I realize she’s still talking as if she didn’t just admit to being raped by the man who tried to stare me down at Mrs. Hash’s party.

  “But you know, I survived, and I’m alright. Of course, I had to cope with it somehow when I was younger, but I managed.” She holds up the
plastic cup with the vodka in it and downs the rest. She makes an ah sound as if it’s refreshing and smacks her lips together as she settles back onto the cushions. I feel sick to the stomach because of what I did to her at the farmhouse, and I wish I had known about that creep before I meant him. I would have ripped his head off those broad shoulders and tossed it onto the floor like the piece of dirt that man really is.

  “It’s the eyes.” She whispers, staring at the ceiling. “The eyes are what really got me today. I recognized them, but honestly I don’t know if I’m mixing two memories together or not. Could that be possible?” She looks at me, and I wish I knew what she was talking about.

  “You know, the flashlight shone on his eyes in the barn. I could see them the entire time, and they just look so familiar. Maybe I’m mixing up the color of his eyes with the man’s in the cabin because they were both similar events. Maybe they both just have hazel eyes. A lot of people have hazel eyes.” She starts to drift off, and I put my hands on either one of her shoulders to shake her. Anastasia wakes up with a grumpy slap at my chest but misses.

  “What are you talking about?” But I think I know all too well what’s she’s saying.

  “The man,” she grumps out, trying to inch away from me.

  “What man?” I just need her to say it. I’ll be justified in killing him then because I can claim self-defense on Anastasia’s behalf, right? Part of me says I should go to the police with this information, but how could they link him to the kidnapping of Anastasia? I have no idea if they have DNA evidence, and if they don’t then there wouldn’t be a way. I’m sure the psycho doesn’t keep his tapes anywhere near his family.

  “The man in the cabin who wanted the tape, his eyes, they were like Henry’s.” Her head lolls back, and I pull her forward, making sure that her face is downwards.

  “I think it’s time for that cold shower, and then some strong coffee. We’re going to the police station.” She tries to resist me as I pull her back towards the bathroom. I don’t realize that I chose the wrong one until she’s sitting in my tub attempting to get her shirt off. I help her with it methodically and ignore the scars up and down her arms, her stomach, and the ones that lead below her pants. There’s no time to ask her about those.