by Jordan Bell
I kept my head down until she went inside so that she wouldn’t see the wetness on my lashes. That was one thing I regretted about losing Jonathan. The King women were some of the neatest people I’d ever met.
I also wondered bitterly how long it would take for the wrong people to stop apologizing.
Lost in my own thoughts, I didn’t hear the broken back door squeak open. I looked up when Bailey cleared her throat politely.
Our eyes met and my first instinct was to vault over the back of the porch swing and make a run for it. But since she stood stock stiff next to me, her fingers intertwined in front of her, looking poised and very pink without a single knife or flame thrower in sight, I held my ground.
She cleared her throat again, a tiny bird noise. Even though we both had blue eyes and blonde hair, there was nothing similar in shade, shape, or presence. I wondered if maybe one of us had been found in a basket on the side of the road when we were babies. Probably me.
“I wanted to say,” she began quietly, “thank you for hosting today. The snacks you made were very good and you’ve been perfectly nice all afternoon.”
Surprise held my tongue. One thing we’d never done all this time was talk, mostly because there seemed to be nothing either of us could say to make the situation better. In fact, in all likelihood, talking would lead to bloodshed.
But this didn’t feel like a preamble to homicidal rage. There was tension there, like fishing wire tied between us, strung out so tight it was stretching. But the tension felt less immediate. For the first time when I looked at her and inhaled the scent of her lotion, like fat pink babies and linen sheets, instead of thinking about her and Jonathan naked in the barn, I thought about Jason. In this complicated moment, the memory of his touch this morning brought peace. He’d stopped by before going to pick up his brother and the best man and after I let him in we didn’t even make it out of the living room before he had me bent over the arm of the couch.
The corner of my mouth twitched. It was hard keeping a straight face with the memory so fresh.
“You didn’t have to,” she went on. Her eyes dropped to her toes, out of focus. She nibbled her bottom lip. “You could have told us to go to hell and no one would have blamed you.”
“You’re welcome,” I said carefully, like tip-toeing through a mine field. “To be fair though, mom asked me when I was a little distracted.”
She glanced back up and smiled. “Distractions are good.”
I felt another bright memory of Jason’s hands tangled in my hair.
“Distractions are very good.”
“Ok then.”
“Ok.”
The tension slackened. She backed up, clearly as afraid of turning her back on me as I was on her, and got almost to the door before stopping.
“Jonathan is stopping by with food. He’s bringing Jason and Darrel with him. Will that be…”
“It’s fine.”
She nodded. “Also, Sabrina’s putting together a sort of bachelorette party. Just up at Black’s for some drinks and appetizers. She didn’t know if she should invite you or not and I said of course.”
I made a noise and raised an eyebrow at her. “Do you think getting us liquored up in public is the best idea?”
Bailey shrugged her tiny shoulders and screwed the toe of her boot into the porch. She looked down and fiddled with the hem of her shirt. “Maybe it would help.”
The smart ass in me nearly ruined the moment, but her logic wasn’t entirely without merit. Reluctantly I nodded. “Tell her to invite me and we’ll just…see.”
Bailey raised her eyes in surprise, but quickly shuttered the emotion behind her usual distance and nodded. “Ok then.”
“Ok.”
Without letting herself get caught up again, she yanked open the broken screen door and disappeared inside. I heard my mother call her name and my aunt call for another mimosa. I inventoried all the sore spots in my heart and head, the sickness in my stomach or the butterflies that had lay dying in my toes for months. Nothing stirred or rocked or throbbed out of place. I felt a bit of liveliness in my chest but it was not an unpleasant sensation. This salon, being invited to Bailey’s bachelorette party, and having Jonathan in my home again should have scored me up like a piece of butcher meat, but nothing bled. Nothing felt raw and restless. It all felt as it should be, the guts of a plain girl with baggage. At worst, a little tender. Stitched back up, maybe imperfectly, but holding it all together nonetheless.
###
Jason arrived in the afternoon with Jonathan and the best man in tow. They brought more orange juice and hot sandwiches from Marcy’s. When he climbed the stairs our eyes met and like magic my tension vanished.
“Ladies! Who’s hungry?” Jonathan called as my kitchen door slammed.
Bailey squealed. I made a face and reluctantly abandoned my exile to slip inside where the cheering King and Blue women were crowding the men. My aunt Elisabeth kissed Jason’s cheek and told him how handsome he’d gotten. Bailey kissed Jonathan. Jonathan’s best friend Dan nabbed a sandwich from the middle of the mad crowd and snuck it to me with a wink.
“Here, sweethearts, tea.” Francine King handed off cups to the three boys. Jason took one sip, coughed, and whispered to Jonathan, “Is this rum?”
“A lot of rum, I think.”
“Cheers!” My mother barked and the room flooded with a rousing wave of tipsy cheers and clinking Styrofoam cups.
It happened in slow motion. A cup was set down on the edge of the island. A hand went into the box for a sandwich. Someone bumped someone else. Someone swore. The cup got nudged by any number of hands or elbows and tipped like a waterfall onto the hardwood floor right where Jason and I had first ripped each other’s clothes off.
Everyone watched it fall. It splashed across the wood and people ran about looking for something, anything to clean it up with. Jason and I, however, stared together at the spot, the memory a fresh, bright explosion throughout my body. I felt it in my knees, in my hands, in the hollow of my chest, and, of course, like a burning heat between my legs. Jason met my eyes and I knew he was there too, weeks ago, sweaty and soaked on this floor.
“It’s going to be sticky. We need towels,” my mother called.
And Jason, without missing a beat, answered, “I’ll get them.”
He turned abruptly like he knew my house by heart, in the dark, while preoccupied with my mouth and thighs. Several nosy women glanced his way when he stopped in the archway leading down the hall to the guest bathroom. Sweat broke out across the back of my neck and I took a jerky step forward to stop him, but too slow.
He caught his error and turned to find me in the crowded kitchen. “It’s this way? I guess it’s been a while since I was here last.”
I set my uneaten sandwich and drink on the counter and hurried to meet him. Too many eyes followed.
“I’ll show you,” I murmured, and pushed him into the hallway. Once out of the way of prying eyes, the chit-chat and good natured laughter filled the kitchen behind us.
Once in the tiny guest bathroom, Jason took my wrist, spun and pinned me silently to the flocked wallpaper. Our hands intertwined and I held him against me as hard as he held me down. His breath touched my cheek, his lips moved against my skin when he whispered.
“How are you holding up?”
“Better now.” I turned my cheek into his mouth, forcing him to kiss me, and he complied, eventually finding my mouth after I’d answered him.
“I tried to get here as soon as I could. We had a tux fitting and then Jonathan dragged his feet the whole way. I don’t think he wanted to come here.” I snorted softly.
“How awkward for him.”
“You guys need help?”
Jason leaned in for another kiss when Bailey’s ill-timed interruption made him jerk back with a start.
“We’re fine,” I called into the hallway and slipped out from his grasp. Jason immediately started rifling under the sink and I sat on the edge of the
tub to watch him. “How’s your grandpa?”
“Angry. Probably about as angry as you, most of the time. I made dinner for him last night and we talked about seeds for an hour. An hour. Before yesterday everything I knew about seeds I learned in eighth grade biology class. I’m smart but he blew me away. Turns out Garton has a degree in Biology from the state university. My grandma told him she wouldn’t marry an uneducated small town boy and grow old in the middle of nowhere, so he went and got a degree in what he loved and built her a house halfway between town and the middle of nowhere so they’d both be happy. She married him and had six sons.” Jason straightened, arms full of towels and cleaning supplies. “I had no idea.”
I smiled. “Wow, he must have really loved her.”
“More than the whole world.” He leaned against the sink. “I think that’s why he doesn’t want to sell the farm. That house was for her.”
“When my grandfather bought this place for my grandma, it was already old, but she loved every squeaky floor bored, every leaky window. Now that she’s gone I can still feel her here sometimes. I hear a squeak in the kitchen and expect to find her standing at the big cast iron sink.” I ran my hand along the curved rim of the old porcelain tub. “I understand his reluctance to leave her ghost behind. It’ll break my heart all over again when I have to leave this house.”
“Why would you ever leave it?”
I hesitated, the truth stuck to the roof of my mouth. Losing my grandma’s house had been the catalyst for taking a bat to Jonathan’s truck. It had been the source of many tears whenever Jason wasn’t around to keep me from wallowing. I was reluctant to cross the streams, but more importantly, it seemed like waste of time. He’d be gone by the time I had to clear out anyway.
“This mess isn’t going to clean itself.” Bailey reappeared in the doorway, hands on her hips, indignant for no good reason. “Haul ass already.”
“Hey, the older siblings are talking. Hold your horses.”
She made an exasperated noise. “It will leave a mark.”
Oh. She meant, it would leave a mark on her new kitchen floor.
“You’d have a stroke, Bailey, if you knew how many times I’d tracked rain and mud through the kitchen without bothering to take off my boots.”
“Cassidy.”
“Bailey.”
“Man, I am so glad I never had sisters.” Jason shook his head and pushed off the sink.
Bailey stared at him and didn’t exactly get out of the way when he came up on the door. Her brow furrowed. “What would you two even have to talk about anyway?”
“Grown up stuff.” His lopsided grin broadened when she scowled like an annoyed little sister. She oofed when he thrust the towels into her arms. “Here, since you’re in such a hurry. Now run along back to your party.”
Bailey sized us both down with a scathing look, but turned anyway and headed back to the kitchen with her arms stretched wide around the supplies. The potential mark on her hardwood floors was more pressing, apparently, than our sparring match.
I stood up. Jason settled his hand across the small of my back as we maneuvered into the hallway. “I think I’m the only other person who has ever told Bailey off. I think you’re my hero.”
“I think you have low standards.”
I grinned. “I’m just easy to please.”
“Mmm.” He leaned down and snuck a kiss and a gentle suck at the base of my neck. “Let’s kick everyone out and get back to the pleasing part.”
My cheeks flushed as we returned to the noise of the kitchen and living room. He released my back but remained close for the next twenty minutes while we endured idle gossip. Only once did things turn awkward and that was well into the third pitcher of mimosa.
“I’d just like to make a toast to the bride and groom,” Jonathan and Jason’s great aunt Kathy said loud enough to settle the room into quieting down. She stood up from her seat at the kitchen table and raised her Styrofoam cup. “You’re beautiful Bailey, you know you are sweetheart. We’re terrible proud to welcome you into the family.”
The room lit up in cheers, whistles, and cat calls, like a bunch of lecherous men on a street corner these old ladies were. Bailey grinned and Jonathan kissed her cheek and even I clapped. Jason gave me a nudge and his trademark smile and I shrugged, helpless to get caught up in the warmth of the moment. The strength of my drink didn’t hurt either.
Even I wasn’t immune to the way Jonathan gazed at my sister. Bashful, like a teenager, blushing clear down the back of his neck.
I knew he’d never gazed at me like that.
Before the celebration quieted down, great aunt Kathy raised her cup in the air one last time. “Now if he can just keep his pecker in his pants we might actually make it down the aisle this time!”
My mother flinched noticeably and Francine drank the rest of her cup like a shot glass. Most of the room laughed, only some had the decency to look nervous about it. Bailey lowered her eyes to her feet and Jonathan involuntarily glanced my way. For the first time since that day in the barn so many months ago, our eyes locked.
I felt it in my knees. Everything lost sensation for those few seconds we stared at each other. I couldn’t remember how many times we’d stared into each other’s eyes, but I recognized how little they moved me. Blue, but not very blue, not like Jason’s. Nothing fluttered. No excitement overtook my better self. For the two years we dated, I realized, we’d had a perfectly nice relationship. Orderly to the point of politeness.
When Jonathan tore his eyes away from mine, I realized Jason had his arm tight across my back. He held me against his side for support, not aggressively, and since everyone in the room was doing their best to not look at me, no one seemed to notice.
When the toasting finished a few minutes later and the ladies got down to the business of crafts once more, I fled to the front porch to finish out the afternoon inebriated and confused.
###
The men showed up to collect the King and Blue ladies at dusk, all of them wobbling and coated in a fine layer of glitter that trailed behind them like snow. I scrunched myself in the corner of the porch swing, knees up to my chest, and watched them all go, taillights disappearing in clouds of dust. The sky was dark and rumbly. I was certain it would rain during the night at least.
Jason begged off a ride home from Jonathan by offering to help me clean up, then he’d walk home. If anyone thought it was odd, they didn’t show it. I was grateful for the sound of the dishwasher kicking on and the wishwish of the broom across the kitchen floor. Emotionally I was as wrung out as a dirty dish rag.
The front door squealed open and banged shut. Jason stood there for a moment and squealed it open and shut again before checking the bent hinges.
“How long has this door been broken? At least as long as I’ve been coming here.”
“Exactly as long, in fact.”
“You just need a couple of new hinges, the door looks in good shape. It’d take you only a couple of minutes to fix this.”
I winced. “Yeah, I’m not really very good at fixing things.”
“What kind of farm girl are you?” He swaggered over and I made room for him to sit on the swing opposite me. He opened his hand for my foot and I stretched my legs into his lap. He started massaging the balls of my feet with his thumbs.
“The terrible kind. I don’t write code for social media apps and websites because I’m good with a tractor and backhoe.”
He gave me a funny look. “I had no idea that’s what you did for a living. Why didn’t I know that?”
“Because we have a rule about talking.”
“Ah, that’s right. So what are we doing right now?”
“Foreplay?”
“Of course. I thought that’s what this was.” He dragged his fingers down the middle of my foot and I shivered. “Who do you end up doing work for then? I’m guessing not anyone around here.”
“Most of the town still thinks Facebook is some sort of black magic. My mo
m’s church knitting club once had me come do a tutorial for them on texting and you’d have thought I was teaching them to download pornography.” He laughed. “I do work mostly for artists, authors, musicians, and some start-up companies without an IT or marketing department of their own. All freelance, but there seems to be plenty of work out there. I do ok.”
“I ask because I have some friends in the city who need innovative builders on their marketing teams. I could give them your name.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
Too much. The way he looked at me with since intensity was too much. How he inserted himself so easily into my life was too much. I gently pulled my foot out of his hands and tightened my knees to my chest. “You know, I think I’m kind of tired tonight. I just want to crawl into a hot bath and then go to bed.”
Jason turned away, but I could see the tightness in his jaw. I wanted him to say something, but was relieved when he didn’t.
Finally he stood and bent to kiss me, but I turned enough that he caught my cheek. If it upset him, he didn’t show it.
“Sleep tight, Cassidy.”
I watched him head down the road until the dusky darkness swallowed him up. I finally went inside, threw the dirty towels from the spill into the wash, and trudged upstairs to start a bath.
The next morning, when I woke late after a fitful, restless sleep, I took the party trash outside in my pajamas and slippers. I realized when I came back in that the screen door didn’t squeal and there were new shiny hinges where the bent up ones had been the night before.
11
____________
Three times. That was how many nights I’d spent with Jason King between that night and the bachelorette party. Three. In seven days. I counted.
And those three nights felt rushed and crazed, like there wasn’t enough time left. We exploded like stars leaving me exhausted and bruised the next morning.
Three times. He claimed he had work to do at his grandfather’s place, but I suspected as the wedding grew closer, now only a week away, the sooner he’d be leaving town. It seemed smart to start sleeping alone again. Which, admittedly, I hated.