by Dara Girard
Terri removed a string of orange ribbon from a lamp. “No, and I wouldn’t tell you if I did.”
“Why not?”
“Because I want you to go and find out more about him.”
“How could I when I embarrassed myself?”
“He didn’t seem to mind. You’re curious, and we both know you’re not that serious about Philip. At least see if there could be something with him or if tonight was just a little Halloween magic.”
The magic seemed to have faded as Caryn sat in the crowded café waiting for the stranger to appear. It was three o’clock exactly and he was nowhere in sight. She waited ten more minutes then came to the conclusion that he’d made a fool of her. She left the café and was half way to her car when she heard someone cry out “Wait!”
She turned and saw a man coming towards her on a bicycle. He braked, jumped off his bicycle and hopped over to her as if he were in pain. Before she could ask any questions he ripped off his helmet and flashed her a heart melting grin. “You came. I wasn’t sure you would.”
“Yes,” was all that she could manage, surprised that her presence could cause such joy on his face. Without the black headscarf mask, she saw he was even better looking than she’d imagined, and when a burst of wind sent leaves of gold, ruby, and amber swirling around them, she felt as if the magic of last night had settled around them once more.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said, gripping the handles of his bicycle. It was then that she noticed how tight his knuckles were. She dropped her gaze further and saw blood on his sneakers and a large gash on his leg.
Her mouth fell open. “What is wrong with you!”
The light in his eyes dimmed. “What?”
“You’re hurt.”
A flash of chagrin touched his face. “Yeah, a minor accident getting here. Mind if I rest against your car a minute?”
“You need to go to the hospital.” She knelt down and looked closer at the wound. “Looks very bad.” She glanced up at him. “Does it hurt?”
“It feels like it’s on fire and being attacked by wasps at the same time, but other than that I’m fine.”
She stood. “I’ll take you to the hospital.” She pointed at him. “And don’t say no.”
More than three hours later, she was driving him home, after he’d received stitches and a prescription for painkillers. But in those three hours she’d learned his name, learned that he’d gotten hit by a car on his way to see her, that he could joke even in pain, and that he was just as wonderful as when she’d met him the night before. She learned that he could be impulsive, and that she liked him immensely, maybe even loved him. Although she didn’t believe in love at first sight, he made her wonder.
“You could have cancelled,” she chided him as she drove him back to his place.
He rested his head back and closed his eyes. “I didn’t have your phone number.”
“You could have gotten it from Terri.”
“Who?”
“The woman who hosted the Halloween party.”
He nodded but didn’t open his eyes. “Oh right.”
“And then you could have told her that you need to tell me something.” Caryn glanced at him. “And I know you’re going to say that you didn’t know my name, but you could have told her that I was the one in the blonde wig dressed like Princess Buttercup and then she would have known who you were talking about and relayed the message to me.”
A slow smile spread on his lips. “What fun would that be?”
She glanced at his bandaged leg. “You call this fun?”
He shot her a look of mischievous pleasure. “I got to spend time with you, didn’t I?”
Caryn pulled her gaze away and stared at the road. “It was still dangerous. You could have gotten an infection and—”
He reached over and tenderly stroked her cheek. “I’m glad you came,” he said in a soft voice.
She bit her lip, knowing she should pull away from such a bold caress, her skin tingling from his touch, as if he were a magician casting a spell. Instead she reached out her hand to him, feeling a sigh of relief when she felt his warm hand close over hers. “This is crazy,” she said.
“I know, but don’t fight it.”
“We hardly know each other.”
He grinned. “It won’t take long to change that.”
“I’m not sleeping with you on the first date.”
He laughed. “That’s not what I meant.”
She felt her face color. “Oh.”
“But I look forward to that too.” He squeezed her hand. “A lot.” He kissed the back of her hand. “So much.” He kissed her palm. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight just thinking about it,” he said, licking her palm with the tip of his tongue.
She yanked her hand away, her face no longer burning from embarrassment, and playfully slapped him on the arm. “Cut that out.”
He rubbed his arm, feigning hurt. “You’d strike a wounded man?”
“Yes, because he’s dangerous.”
“You’re right,” he said without remorse then studied his nails. “Well, a pirate is known to steal.” He sent her a look. “And your heart is high on my list.”
By the end of the day he had her heart completely and barely five months later she was eager to be his bride. But it was as she stood in front of him at the altar, her heart full of love, that her dream shattered as she stared at her greatest secret sitting in the crowd. A secret that would destroy everything.
A secret that wasn’t new and one that wouldn’t go away.
Her life had been all about secrets. She’d never invited friends over to her house, there had been no sleepovers, birthday parties, having friends over to hang out or to study. She kept everyone away so that no one could find out that she was living in misery.
Caryn didn’t want anyone to discover that she didn’t know whether their house had carpeting or hardwood flooring, because it was buried under two feet of trash. Trash her mother called her ‘darling treasures.’ Her mother went shopping every weekend and filled the house with more and more stuff, but it wasn’t just the items she purchased. She kept the wrapping paper from any gifts they received, the boxes the items came in, the receipts, the extra buttons that came with shirts and jackets, she reused paper towels and still had extra rolls.
Some items were stacked so high that they covered the windows and threatened to touch the ceiling.
And if Caryn tried to clean anything—if she moved a toothbrush, one of fifty, or touched an empty box of Kleenex—somehow her mother knew and had a fit. She never hit her, but her words were just as effective, scarring her heart and making her flinch like a physical assault.
Caryn kept her secret from teachers, other family members, and child protection services, because as much as she wanted to leave, she knew her mother needed her. She kept the secret from her brother who went to live with their father. Her mother holding on to her saying “I’m so glad you won’t abandon me like everyone else.”
And when her mother hugged her in those moments she felt guilty for wanting to leave her, wanting to disappear and be somewhere clean.
She wanted to be in a place where she didn’t have stacks of clothing on the floor and on the bed. Her mother always buying her more, even though she’d told her she didn’t need them.
She once said they had a problem, mentioned the word ‘hoarder’ but her mother had bristled at the term.
“Those are filthy people,” she’d said. “I’m just a collector and creative.”
Her mother was blind to it all. And every day Caryn felt as if she were suffocating. It was when her younger sister started to take on some of their mother’s habits that she made a decision to reach out to their father to take her too.
She didn’t give him a reason, just that she was doing poorly in school, which was true, and that mother wasn’t patient with her, also true. Fortunately, her mother let Ella go not caring as long as she had Caryn.
Then whe
n Caryn was seventeen, her Uncle Murray got sick and her Aunt Barbara wasn’t coping well. Caryn offered to help and saw a way out. She cared for him for six months until he recovered then the thought of returning to her mother’s house caused her to break down. Her aunt found Caryn in the shower fully clothed, crouched with her knees to her chest mumbling to herself. “I can’t go back. I can’t go back.”
With patience and tenderness she’d gotten Caryn out of the shower.
“Now tell me what’s wrong.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
“You’ll have to see it or you won’t believe me.”
“See what?”
“The house, but you’ll have to wait until she’s at work or she won’t let you.”
The look of horror on her aunt’s face when they entered her house the next day, confirmed all her fears. It truly was hell. It was as bad as she remembered it.
“Pack your things,” she said in a brisk voice. “You’re not coming back here.”
“There’s nothing I want. Please let’s go.”
“Dear God,” her aunt said, squeezing her way through a tunnel of boxes and crawling over a mound of clothes, towels and paper. She finally reached the front door and said, “This is absolutely abominable.” She swung it open, stumbled outside then fanned herself as if she were about to faint. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
Caryn closed the front door and locked it. “I was afraid of what would happen to us. To her.”
Barbara took a step back and stared up at the house and its pristine green shutters and tended garden of purple azalea bushes and pink peonies. “You couldn’t tell from the outside how bad it is.” She brushed away the remnants of a spider’s web that clung to the sleeve of her jacket. “I never saw anything like this when we were growing up. She needs help.”
She doesn’t want help. I’ve tried. But Caryn didn’t tell her aunt this, instead she balled her hands into fists and quietly said, “Can I stay with you? I won’t be any trouble and—”
Barbara turned to the car and waved the rest of Caryn’s words aside. “You don’t need to convince me, dear, you’re never coming back here.”
And she didn’t. Her aunt kept her word despite the battle her mother initially raged against her, leaving foul phone messages, texts and emails. But when Barbara threatened to report her to the county, she quieted down and left Caryn alone, although it was years before she spoke to her again.
During their separation, Caryn depended on her Aunt Barbara to show her how to live a life out in the open without secrets and insanity. Caryn modeled her aunt’s every action wanting to be as professional and emotionally healthy as she was. Deep down, at times, she feared she had some of her mother’s tendencies, she feared that she had something inside her that could snap and spin her life out of control as her mother’s had. Her mother hadn’t always been that way. For the first thirty-five years of her life she’d been ‘normal’. Then came the separation and divorce, and a health crisis and that sent her over an edge she’d never returned from.
Her aunt had given Caryn stability and warned her against her mother’s impulsiveness. “Your parents never should have married,” her aunt told her one day during her brother’s college graduation.
Her parents, who were both in attendance, pretended not to see each other, although her mother couldn’t be missed in a light orange dress and matching shoes. No one could guess that she had seventy dresses just like it in different colors. “They were too young and it happened too fast. Your mother made your father her world and look where that left her. Don’t let your life ever be ruled by your heart. It will only lead to heartbreak and ruin.”
It was those words that flashed through her mind on her wedding day. She’d glanced at her mother smiling up at her, feeling the strength of her feelings for Adrian and knew that if she lost him it would destroy her. She felt like a fraud, as if she’d tricked him to falling into something that wasn’t real. Her father had loved her mother once, but then her strange behavior had started after the birth of her sister. Adrian had never seen her mother’s house; he didn’t know what she could become, so she ran…
Caryn pushed the memory aside as she parked her car and briefly rested her head on the steering wheel. You made the right decision, her aunt had said. But her heart continued to rebel. She left her car, grabbed her mail then walked up to her townhouse determined to push her feelings away. She’d protected them both. She’d done the rational thing. She had used her head instead of her heart. He was better off without her and there was no turning back.
She walked into her foyer, placing her keys and handbag in their designated slots, before going through her mail. She flipped through the various sized envelopes with little interest, until one particular envelope caught her eye.
Chapter Ten
Caryn set the other envelopes aside, sat on her couch and stared at it. It looked like a wedding invitation, but she’d never seen anything like it.
She checked the address and saw her full name: Caryn Angela Chandler. Who could it be from? She grabbed a letter opener and swiftly cut open the gold lined envelope. Inside was a handwritten note on expensive parchment paper lined with finely woven lace. You have been personally selected to join The Black Stockings Society, an elite, members-only club that will change your life and help you find the man of your dreams. Guaranteed.
Guaranteed? She rolled her eyes and grimaced. There were few guarantees in life. Someone had created an expensive form of junk mail. She wouldn’t fall for it, but that didn’t stop her from being curious. She read the rest of the note.
Dumped? No, she’d broken up with Peter.
Bored? Yes, she felt as if her life had hit a rut.
Tired of being single? She hadn’t been single long—a week, maybe?—but would like to be in a relationship.
Ready to live dangerously?
She paused. She’d never lived dangerously. She always weighed her options and the consequences of her actions. That’s why she’d let Adrian go. Agreeing to marry him after such a short time had been reckless. She shouldn’t have even made it to the wedding. She shouldn’t have allowed it to get that far. She shouldn’t have hurt Adrian like that. Being reckless only hurt others in the long run, as her aunt constantly reminded her. Hadn’t her mother taught her that? She’d had a whirlwind romance with her father.
But still…there was something that burned within her. She wanted more out of life. She wanted to feel that magic she’d felt when she’d spotted a sexy pirate from across the room. Caryn shook her head. But that was nonsense. She wasn’t in her twenties anymore and that moment wasn’t real, although everything about it had felt real. More real than anything in her life had felt before or since. Her love for Adrian had been real. She didn’t want to love that completely again, but she didn’t want to stay safe either. Could there be a healthy in-between? She read the sentence again.
Ready to live dangerously? She licked her lip, nodded her head then whispered ‘yes.’
Then this is the club for you. Guaranteed results! Submit your application today.
Application? Why did she have to fill out an application? If she’d been invited didn’t that mean she was chosen? What if she failed the application? Why would they get someone’s hopes up like this? She flipped the card over, but couldn’t find any more information. The Black Stockings Society? What exactly was it?
She decided to do a search, but couldn’t find any information about them either online or off, which made her more curious instead of suspicious. How was she selected? What did a membership mean? Why didn’t they have an email address, special website or at least a phone number where she could call and ask questions? She looked at the nominal fee that she was supposed to send with her application. The amount wasn’t a lot of money, but why should she pay anything?
She set the paper aside three times and picked it up each time. She should throw it away, but twice she’d walked to her trash bin and co
uldn’t let it go. She even made the motion of throwing it away, but it remained gripped in her hand. For a moment she felt like her mother, who kept every holiday card, unable to toss them in the recycling bin.
“I’m not her,” Caryn said through gritted teeth, using one hand to tug the envelope out of the other’s grip. But the hand seemed to have a mind of it’s own and wouldn’t let go.
She released a cry of frustration, fell to her knees then said, “Okay, just this once. I won’t throw it away, that doesn’t mean I’m losing it.”
The other hand’s tension relaxed and she felt herself becoming at ease. Curiosity wasn’t the same as recklessness. She was very aware of her every action. This wasn’t an emotional choice, but one of intellectual intrigue.
Feeling more in control, Caryn got a pen, returned to the couch and looked at the enclosed questionnaire. Unfortunately, it didn’t make sense to her. The questions were outrageous. She’d expected them to ask about her career or ambitions, perhaps a psychological test to make sure she was a prime candidate. Instead they seemed to focus on vague interests. She sighed. She’d come this far and there weren’t many questions anyway so she might as well continue. She reread the first question.
Piano or guitar? Does it really matter? Were they trying to distinguish whether she preferred a string instrument or something? Did that say something about her personality? She skipped to the next question.
Rock climbing or white water rafting? She hadn’t even considered either. Both were dangerous. Did she really have to chose? Would it matter if she didn’t answer? Or perhaps she could make her own suggestion? She skipped to another question.
Winter or summer wedding? She gripped her pen. It should have been a simple question but it wasn’t. Why did they have to ask her about a wedding? And why did they have to ask winter or summer instead of spring or fall? Her first time had been in the spring because she loved the season of new beginnings and the lighter days. Maybe this time it should be different. She wrote down winter.
Then she crossed it out and said summer. It was just for fun, she might as well state what she really wanted—a day with bright sunshine and everything lush and green—even though it wasn’t likely to come true.