The Heir

by Eshbaugh Kayla

  “Would you mind writing down what you know? It would be a great addition to the book.”

  I was frozen to the spot as I felt his breath caress my cheek. I wanted to jump into his arms, wanted to feel his lips meeting mine. I pushed those thoughts down, and gulped. “O—oh, my writing would make it ugly. This cursive is beautiful.” I traced the curls and dips on the page with my fingertips, trying to distract myself from the electric fire that his close proximity lit inside of me. “I wish I could write like that.”

  “I was taught very young.” He pulled away from me. And even though I still wanted him close, I was also grateful to have more of my self-control back with the distance. “I have had much practice, but I also think your cursive is beautiful. I saw your notes in your notebook—very good penmanship.”

  Eventually, and even though it hurt to do it, I added the names of the roses if I knew them underneath his writing. I was honored to be part of something that was his—and so personally so. I made sure to write small, not wanting to take away from his beautiful lettering.

  “So, you move a lot?” I asked, still fumbling through the pages.

  “We did. Keil and I have mostly been on the east coast. I think we will be here a while.”

  “Really?” I asked, a little too enthusiastic, and he smiled.

  “Yes, at least until I am done with high school—which will be next year.”

  “Do you have any plans for after you graduate?”

  “I want to see my family, let them know how I am doing. I have not seen them in a long time. I want to find my way home somehow.”

  It must be hard, I thought. Knowing that your family is out there, and you cannot be with them. I wonder what had happened to make Keil his guardian.

  “What about you?” he asked after a brief pause.

  “I don’t know yet. College somewhere; luckily, I still have two years to figure it out.”

  “That is true,” He sat down beside me. I then realized that he had been standing the entire time I spent looking at his book—or hobby, and I laughed thinking about it.

  “I do think it is more of a collection than a hobby.”

  “That may be true; I never knew what to call it.” He shrugged.

  I closed the book then and turned to him.

  “So, now, I have seen your secret rose collection—” I cut myself off.

  “Do you want something to eat?”

  “Sure.” We stood up at the same time, and my head hit the bottom of his chin, again. I sat back down and moaned in pain. Ouch, it really hurts this time.

  “Are you okay, Emma?” He knelt beside the chair as he spoke.

  “Yes, sorry. I am kind of clumsy.”

  “I think I need to be more careful around you.” He gave me a beautiful smirk.

  “Are you okay?” I pointed to his chin. He smiled and nodded. He stood again—this time far away from me as he reached his full height.

  “Come, let us eat.” He reached his hand out to me, which seemed so formal, but I was eager for an excuse to touch him again. I took his hand in mine—our palms touching, and then slowly our fingers interlocking. First, there was the steady pulse and a heat rising between us. Then, the song floated around me so loudly inside me, and I wondered if he could hear it, too. I gasped as I felt my heartbeat quicken. He looked at me, and I looked at him. Our eyes locked for a moment. Does he feel it, too? He has to feel it. Isn’t it clearly written all over his perfect face? I never wanted to let go of his hand again. His eyes turned a shade more golden right before me, and I wondered if I was seeing things or if this was really happening. We stood there for I don’t know how long, looking at each other, our hands entangled together. I could not help but feel the burning inside of me down to my very soul, that I wanted to know him, know everything about him. It was like as if I needed to know who he was, like I needed to breathe. Mine. My soul seemed to echo within me to the beat of my made up song. It surprised me. Why am I being so possessive? Is this some teenage hormonal thing? If so I have never heard of this before. They did not cover this in health class, freshman year. Who are you? I wondered. As soon as I did, my entire body was filled with one phrase—so quiet, so soft—but clearly it was there:

  I am yours.

  Goosebumps ran down my arms, and I cleared my throat, breaking the trance that we were in. My imagination is really running wild, isn’t it? Shad’s face was blank, and I was not about to ask any questions, because not only did I have a million of them, I did not know what to ask first. What is this between us? Something was there, and I was sure he had to feel it, too. That—or again, it was only me losing my mind. Shad tugged me from the room, and we walked down the stairs.

  Keil was making sandwiches in the bright, clean, and all white kitchen when we came down. Shad and I both sat at their small wooden table near the back patio sliding glass door. His yard was the same size as my own, it seemed, with the same kind of trees, cement slab patio, and small grass area. We were both silent as Keil set the plates down in front of us. I was missing Shads’ hand in mine as I watched him begin to eat. I remained hopeful, however, because maybe since he had held it once, he would hold it again—and soon. I thanked Keil and ate the turkey and cheese sandwich that he had made. My head was still aching from crashing into him, and my hand was still tingling from his touch. What could I say? I was smitten. No warning flags turned on in my head. He seemed wonderful, kind, smart, thoughtful, and a bit nerdy—maybe, with his collection, but it was also sweet and beautiful. He was polite, probably the most polite person I had ever met. It was almost as if he were from a different time when people actually had manners. While his wardrobe was a little formal for my liking, he looked smokin’ as Ash would say in his formal wear. Still, I could not help but wonder if his rolled up sleeves, unbuttoned collar, and untied tie that day were because of me. Did he do that because of what I said by the pool? I didn’t want to change him. I just felt that while he was this amazingly almost perfect human, he could learn to let loose a bit. Maybe let loose at least with me? Let me in, and tell me everything? I really liked him, and I just hoped beyond all my faults and ramblings and clumsiness, that he liked me, too. I want you to like me, I thought as I took another bite of my sandwich, which was delicious. I watched him stare out the window a moment. I want to know everything about you. I hope you like me. I put my sandwich down and stared out the window to see what he was looking at. As I did, I imagined hearing a song playing inside me with words that answered my questions:

  I like you, Emma; I want to know everything about you, too.

  That night, after Shad walked me home across the street, I laid on my bed, and I smiled. My heart was happy, my soul was singing, and I was content. It had been eight months since my parent’s death. I knew they would love Shad. Shad was the kind of person my father always talked about me finding. He was everything. All was right in the world, or as right as it could be in my situation. I turned over on my bed and felt a crunch, and I sat up and looked where I had lain and saw there the dried, now smashed and ruined, lavender rose—which I had not placed there.

  Something was going on. I knew that I was not moving the rose, and Mary was not moving the rose, so what was happening? But, I was too happy from being with Shad to worry over the placement of his gift. I lifted it off of the bed with a smile and placed it on my nightstand. I fell asleep while looking at it—thinking about his book of roses.

  I raced home on Monday after school, just in time to snag the car keys from Mary and head to the flower shop. I stopped in my room to brush my teeth in my bathroom when I spotted again, the lavender rose on my bed. It was barely recognizable, as most of the petals had crumbled and fallen off. I put my toothbrush in the holder and turned around to my bed. As I walked to my bedspread, I touched the rose with my fingertips. Why is it moving? Had I fully lost my mind? I knew things with me were strange, and even stranger with Shad, but he made me happy, and being happy wasn’t bad, right? I grabbed a piece of tape from my nightstand
drawer, and taped the rose to the wall above my bathroom counter.

  “There, now try and move,” I said to the rose, then washed my hands and left the house.

  I walked outside to the car, and as I drove away, I could not help but feel like someone had been in my room. Someone was moving that flower around, and I didn’t think whoever it was, was a friend. I shook my head. That is stupid. Who would do that? I was only misplacing it, and taping it to the wall would give me proof that it wasn’t moving around. Then, I thought, that maybe I was sleepwalking, which felt to me like a very real and comforting explanation. I nodded to myself: sleepwalking—that is all it is.

  I took over the shift for the evening, telling the new college hire of Mary’s that she was free to go, and she split in a hurry. I stood behind the counter, looking over the order list for the morning and checked to see if there were any orders that I could make and prep and put in the fridge—when I heard the ding from the front door and looked up.

  “Good afternoon,” I sang out in a high pitched voice which I had never heard come out of me before. I cleared my throat as Shad approached me and tried to look like I did not care that he was there, that it did not send my pulse and heart into hyperdrive.

  “Hello, Emma.” Shad placed his hands on the counter and looked into my eyes. “How are you this afternoon?”

  I tried to speak, but taking in his appearance was making it difficult. He had no tie, not even one draped around his neck undone; it was just absent. His shirt’s top two buttons were unbuttoned, and his shirt was partly untucked from his pants in an alluring way. His hair looked as if he had run his fingers through it, and seeing him like that, so incredibly altered, made my insides wobble.

  “Oh, I am okay; let me know if you need help with anything.”

  “Sounds good,” he agreed as his hand touched mine. The jolt I felt from him calmed my worries about the rose in my room, the rose I taped to the wall. I looked at him. “Is there is something you want to say? You can tell me.”

  “Yes, I mean—no, I am fine. You look different,” I said, and then quickly shut my mouth.

  “I find it difficult to stay put together when I know I am going to be around you, Emma.”

  “Why is that? I mean, what I said by the pool—it doesn’t mean you have to stop wearing what you want. I was just trying to understand you. Most people don’t dress as formally as you, but since you went to a private school with uniforms, it makes sense, and also you work at an office afterschool and have to dress up, so I get it.” I closed my mouth and inwardly groaned because again, I had rambled and told him way too much.

  “You could never offend me, Emma; do not worry, and Keil for some time has told me that I should blend in more.”

  “Blend in more?” I asked.

  “Yes, I think I stand out a bit here, makes me uncomfortable.”

  “I am sorry if I ever made you feel—”

  He held up a hand to stop me. “Emma, please—you don’t—” I looked down at the counter.

  “Okay then. Thanks. Well, I do have a lot of prep for tomorrow; it’s a big day, so I better get started,” I said, holding up my list to show him what I had to do.

  He snatched it from me and leaned his back against the counter, releasing my hand.

  “Hey!” I squealed playfully, trying to take it back. He held up a finger, gesturing to give him a minute. My insides buzzed as if electric, and I played the song I created just for him in my head, trying to calm my nerves down a bit.

  “Don’t most of these need to be created the same day? You don't, after all, want to give anyone wilted flowers.” His eyes widened.

  “Of course, I just make some of the baskets or vases up and soak the flowers and things—” I said, cutting myself off before I rambled again.

  He nodded.

  “I see,” he said as he handed the list back to me, and our fingers touched for just a few seconds before I pulled away. “Well, I will just be over there, making some tough decisions all on my own then.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You didn't need my help for all those other flowers,” I said as I turned and walked towards the door. I couldn’t be sure, but I felt as if I heard him say something; yes I did.

  I turned and looked at him, his back facing me as Shad perused the flowers before him. I quickly turned around and began preparing a couple vases for the next day.

  “Excuse me, Emma?” I looked up from the five vases I had prepared and labeled to see Shad standing in front of me with two roses—both orange.

  “Yes, I see orange is the color this time?” He smiled as he laid them out on the counter. “Two?” I asked as he pulled a wallet out of his pant’s pocket.

  “Now, now, Emma, I cannot tell you all my secrets, can I? I don’t want to lead on too much about how much of a nerd I am, after all. If I did tell you all of my secrets, I would not be so appealing to you, would I?”

  I laughed, and it came out like a girlish giggle, and I wanted to slap myself, but I withstood the urge. You don’t need to look more crazy.

  Shad held my gaze with a knowing look on his face.

  I cleared my throat, “I never said you were appealing to me,” I added as I typed in the number on the register that displayed the price of the orange roses. “That will be $12.98.”

  “I do not need you to tell me that I am appealing to you. I already know,” he winked as he handed me a twenty, and I handed him back his change.

  “Rather confident are you?”

  He smirked at me. “Sure, confident, observant—you decide.”

  I gasped at him, and he chuckled.

  “See you at school, Emma, and really if you need to talk, I am a house away or a phone call away. My sister always used to tell me I was an excellent listener,” he said as he took the orange blossoms, turned, and walked out of the door into the night, taking the song I made up for him with him as he went.

  As the time finally came to close the shop, I rushed out the door to Mary’s car, dying to know if Shad had left one of the flowers for me again. After Shad left that night, I went to find the fliers I had made with the meanings of all the different roses and their colors, but they were all gone. I wondered if Mary handed them all out, or if maybe the new college hire tossed them. I was irritated. I remembered what orange stood for, and I thought it was for friendship, so I was pretty disappointed when I saw that he chose that color. Not that I did not want to be his friend, but I wanted to be more.

  Sure enough, as I walked to my car, there was an orange rose there on the hood, exactly where the lavender rose had been. My pulse quickened, and my heart raced. I also noticed that tucked into the windshield wiper was a white piece of paper. I unfolded the carefully folded paper, and there, sprawled in a decorative script, that I knew only to be Shad’s, read: Fascination.

  I turned the paper over to see if there was anything else written there, but there was nothing. I frowned. Well, at least it is better than friendship? He is fascinated with me? Is that really a compliment? Like he could be fascinated with me because I am an idiot, because I am an orphan, a horrible math student, or for any number of reasons, right? I shoved the small piece of paper into my pocket, definitely disappointed, and picked up the rose, smelling the sweetness of its scent, letting the petals caress my lips, telling myself that Shad had chosen that specific bloom just for me, and the frown quickly turned into a smile.

  Ryker

  MY PHONE ALARM BUZZED for the third time that morning. Unable to lay in bed any longer, or I would be late, I sat up. As I checked my phone, I confirmed that Ryker had texted me the night before and wanted to hang out at his house for a bit after school. I had not hung out with just him in what seemed like forever, and I was looking forward to it—as long as he doesn’t talk about my dating life. We had never felt more disconnected from each other, and I missed him.

  “Emma?” Mary called from the hallway.

  “Yes, I am up!” I answered, as she opened my door.

  “Good morning
, Emma. I wanted to let you know that I am headed to the shop.”

  “Okay,” I said as I sat up and pulled the tangled blankets and sheets from around me.

  “Also, I noticed you haven't finished going through your parents things, and I wondered if you were okay, if there was anything you wanted to talk about.” She locked eyes on me—her voice hopeful, her eyes worried. I noticed she was twisting her hands around each other.

  I shook my head. What is she hinting at?

  “No, I am okay; I guess I kind of forgot because of school,” I replied, finally freeing myself from the blanket’s restraints and climbing out of the bed. I felt like the worst daughter. How could I just forget about all their priceless things like that? Shad shows up, and I blew them off? I stopped myself and looked at Mary as she began to speak.

  “No, Emma, that is great. I am glad you are having a more normal year. I just wondered; that is all. Take as long as you like.” She smiled, said goodbye, and walked down the hall. I told myself that I had not forgotten about them, just been a little distracted. That thought made my guilt less sharp. I stood up and tried to find something to wear.

  Once I had found my clothes, which took all of five minutes, I stared at my dresser, where I had set the box of letters my father had written to my mother. Looking to the clock on my nightstand, I noted that I had an extra ten minutes. I opened the lid of the box and pulled out the next letter. Again, it was old and the envelope was faded.

  My Dearest Ara,

  The time that we have spent apart, while I have been searching for home, has been horrible. How will I go on? We move from town to town and are still unable to find it. I worry that we may never, and yet, I have such sweet hope in you, in us. I do wish to be home—however, every night, as I stare out into the stars, I realize that I have everything under them, not in them, and I am grateful for it. Ryker thinks we should come back to you soon, and I agree. I hope you and Mary are well.

  All my love,

  Lamont

  Ryker? I flipped the paper over, wondering if a date was posted on the letter somewhere. Perhaps, it is not such an old letter, and yet, why would Ryker be with my father, alone, looking for something? Were they looking for a house to buy? Again, why was Ryker there? How could he have been there? There was no mention of me, only Mary. That made me reason that I had not yet been born. I stared at the paper in complete and total confusion as the ten minutes I had to spare before school ran out, and I had to leave.