Swift

by Heather London

  “All done,” he said as I returned back to the desk.

  I smiled timidly as I looked over the application, pretending to make sure all the pertinent information was filled out. In reality, he could have written that his name was Abraham Lincoln and he lived at the North Pole, and I wouldn’t have noticed. It was too hard to concentrate with him standing so close to me. Something between us had changed since yesterday, but I wasn’t sure what it was.

  “So, why Marblehead?” I blurted out to dull the pain of the silence as I entered his information into the computer. “I mean, I’m sure there are lots of places with old, historic homes in need of remodeling.”

  “My family felt like this was the perfect place … You could say that it felt like home the moment we arrived,” he said, seeming as though he’d had to come to a decision about saying those last words.

  I turned from the computer to hand him his card, sad that I had not drawn out the process a little longer.

  “Thank you for the book and for the card,” he said, his lips breaking into a gentle smile.

  “Just doing my job,” I responded, immediately cringing that those words had just come out of my mouth. Ugh, just doing my job. Real cool.

  “By the way, how are you feeling?”

  “Fine—all better,” I replied, feeling flattered that he actually cared enough to ask.

  “Well, see you around.”

  “Bye.” I smiled, and he turned and walked away.

  The last thirty minutes of work were nightmarish. For some reason, all the stupid things I had said in front of Blake were playing over and over in my head. But what bothered me probably more than anything was why I cared so much what he thought about me. I was not sure how much longer I would be able to deny what I was feeling. I mean, it was all laid out for me, staring me right in the face. Practically screaming it: I liked him. Then that one thought made my mind go in a thousand different directions. It was not the smartest thing in the world to start liking a guy just a few weeks before skipping town. And even though he had been nice to me the day before and made sure I got home safely, he was still a jerk. Anyone that would talk to his sister that way for something that wasn’t even her fault should not be making me feel like this. Even though it was difficult to explain, I knew there was something else to him; he was holding something back.

  When work was over, I pulled my purse and backpack out from under the counter, trying to concentrate on the fact that I would talk to Roger that afternoon and be able to spill everything to him soon enough. I turned to tell Ms. Donaldson goodbye, who had just returned from her errands, but when I whirled around, I found her already staring at me.

  The words she spoke shocked me. “You look so much like your mother,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I hope you don’t mind me saying so.”

  No one had ever told me that before—maybe because they thought of me as some fragile egg that could crack at any moment.

  “No, I don’t mind,” I answered, a smile breaking across my lips. It was weird that she had just mentioned that. Honestly, I had not even been aware that she had known my mother. “Thank you.”

  I walked out of the library, still smiling at the comment Ms. Donaldson had made. Just then I noticed someone sitting on the bench to my left. It was Blake. When he saw me, he got up and began to walk toward me. My heart fluttered at the sight of him, and I could only stop and watch him as he approached.

  He stopped just a few feet from me, his lips parting, about to speak, and then suddenly he turned back around, mumbling something under his breath. I stood there waiting, hoping he would turn back and say what he wanted to say. Finally he turned to face me once again. “I was hoping I could walk you home. Would that be all right with you?”

  My fluttering heart began to hammer hard against my chest, and I could feel the excitement all the way in my stomach. “Sure, that would be nice.”

  We walked in silence at first, similar to how our walk had begun the day before, but then he asked me a question I was not sure how to answer. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

  It was a logical enough question. I mean, it should be a good icebreaker for most people, right? But not for me, not when my answer was a very sad one. My heart ached, and I felt a large lump rising in my throat. Just the word sister started a domino effect that started with the pain and hurt of losing her and ended with the longing to have her again. I searched for the best way to answer. There was no way I could lie; that would not be fair to Charlotte. Lying about some stuff was necessary, of course, but I couldn’t pretend that I had never had a sister, that she never existed. But I had never been asked that question before. Everyone I had ever known before the Harpers’ knew what had happened to my family, so there was no reason to ask questions like that.

  I knew I had to answer quickly, so the only way to go was to tell the truth. “Yes, I ... had a sister—a twin actually. Her name was Charlotte, but she passed away ten years ago, along with my mother and father.” I guessed it would be good to go ahead and get it all out. Best to avoid any more depressing questions.

  We continued to walk in silence. He stared at the ground, taking in every last word I had just said as if he was calculating something in his head.

  “Sorry,” he finally said. “That is terrible.”

  Not wanting the conversation to get any more depressing, I spoke up again. “It was a long time ago. I hardly remember most things, but I do remember what it was like to have a sister. I miss it very much.” Listen to me, here I am opening up my heart to someone I barely know … not even Roger or Aunt Rose get this much out of me. “You’re lucky, you know, to have Abby,” I added.

  He scoffed, but at the same time a small smile broke across his face. “She comes in handy every once in a while, but she’s an annoying little irritant most of the time.”

  The walk went quickly, and I was actually sad when I saw my house in view. We parted ways, and my heart ached as I walked away from him. This time I was not strong enough to make it all the way to the door before looking back, checking to see if he was still standing there. About halfway to the door, I turned my head and saw that he was standing in the very spot I had left him. He was watching me. I smiled timidly and continued walking. By the time I reached the door and turned to check again, he was gone.

  As I walked in, Aunt Rose was heading out for her night shift. On her way out, she told me that Roger had called a little earlier and that he would try again in a little while. After changing into some more comfortable clothes, I headed downstairs to the kitchen to make a sandwich, hoping to get Blake out of my head. Just as I had pulled the sliced turkey out, the phone rang. I sprinted out of the kitchen and dove onto the couch in the living room, reaching out to answer it.

  “Hello?” I gasped as I picked up the phone.

  “Man, it’s good to hear your voice,” Roger said on the other end.

  “You’re not kidding. Can’t believe it’s only been a week.” I paused, taking in a couple deep breaths, trying to steady my breathing. “Sucks not having your best friend to talk to on a daily basis, especially when so much has happened.”

  “Really? Has Marblehead changed that much in a week? Man, just my luck. When I leave, the most boring town on the planet starts to see some action.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. It’s still just as boring as you left it.”

  I went on and filled him in on my new job, giving him all the boring details. Then I told him about the Harpers, but decided to leave out my feelings for Blake until I figured them out more myself. Just as I was about to begin to tell him about the nightmares, visions, paranoia, and other strange happenings, I heard someone calling his name on his end of the line.

  “Really sorry, but Stephanie just showed up, and we are supposed to be watching a movie in fifteen minutes.”

  “Stephanie? Is she your flavor of the week?” I asked jokingly.

  “More like flavor of the day,” he countered.

  “W
hatever. Blowing me off for some random chick, I see how it is.”

  “I’ll call you later. Promise.”

  When I hung up the phone, I felt unfulfilled. It probably would have been a good idea to lead with all my weird issues then talk about my boring job and the Harpers afterwards. The funny thing was that Roger didn’t even put it together. He did not say anything about the Harpers just moving to Marblehead and the coincidence that they shared the same name as on the gravestones in the cemetery. He had to remember the names on the graves, right? He had visited them with me a hundred times or so. Or maybe he had put it together but was not crazy enough to think they could be connected. Not crazy like me. Even I felt stupid for admitting to myself that the two could be connected. The only logical explanation was that the Harpers were somehow, possibly, related to people buried there, like their descendants or something. Big deal. Even though I knew Roger would be back in just a few weeks’ time and I would have my best friend back and things would get better, I knew it would be only temporary. He would be home for just a few days before he was going to pack up and move into the dorms at Harvard. That was his life, his future, his choice.

  The rest of my day was crappy. Crappy mood. Crappy everything. I actually looked forward to going to work the next day just to give me something to do. Man, if that didn’t prove that I needed a life, I don’t know what would. This was pathetic. To get my mind off that topic, I decided to send my thoughts in a different direction. I was supposed to be on a plane out of there in just a few weeks, and I had still had no definite plans as to what I was doing. I wondered if my procrastination was a sign. Maybe it was a sign that I really didn’t want to leave Marblehead, my house, my life. Only that was just crazy … There was nothing in this world I wanted more. With that conclusion, I was finally able to put myself to sleep.

  My alarm rang, startling me out of a deep sleep. I threw the covers off and marched to the bathroom for a hot shower. Aunt Rose’s door was closed, so I assumed that she was home from her shift and still sleeping. After breakfast, I threw together a lunch and headed out for work.

  Things at the library were slow, and the day dragged on. Secretly, I hoped that Blake would show his face and brighten my day, but there was no sign of him. It was a strange feeling, the need to see him again. Or maybe it was more of a desire, but it felt all the same to me: an ache in my heart, a yearning to see his face, hear his voice, and feel his presence. But, want or need … it didn’t matter what feeling it was, because he never showed.

  That night Aunt Rose and I spent the evening cooking and watching chick flicks. It felt nice, and it was exactly what I needed to get my mind off of Blake. After the second movie, I called it a night and headed upstairs to bed.

  That was the first night in a couple weeks that I dreamed. It started off normal, pleasant even. I was walking along an unfamiliar beach. The sand was pearl white, and it felt soft as silk on my bare feet. I looked above me and noticed the sky was dark grey, filled with black, ominous clouds, like a bad storm was rolling in. There was not another soul on the beach. There was actually nothing else out there but the water, the sand, and me.

  I was conscious that I was dreaming, so I figured the dream must have a point. All the dreams I had had in the past meant something, so this one must have one, too, right? I continued walking on the soft, white-sanded, beach. Even though the sky was grey and my skin was covered in goose bumps, it was peaceful there. After what felt like miles of walking, I looked down at my feet, which were beginning to ache.

  My dream took a drastic turn. I was stunned to notice I was walking on black, coarse sand that hurt my feet with each step. Also, I was not alone anymore. I sensed someone behind me. Then I heard a voice. Faint at first, but it began to get louder and louder. Finally I was able to make out what the voice was saying. It was saying my name, calling for me. I stopped walking, listening to the voice, hoping I could pinpoint where and who it was coming from. Spinning around and around, I searched for the person. The voice sounded oddly familiar, and I had to admit that it would have been nice to see a familiar face just then. The next time the voice called my name, it was even louder and more demanding, angry, even. Maybe I didn’t want to see whoever was calling me after all.

  I opened my eyes, suddenly awake, and I realized that I was not in the comfort of my bed like I should’ve been.

  “Meredith!” A soft, deep voice from behind me shouted again.

  I didn’t turn around. I ignored the voice, instead focusing on my surroundings. Panic set in, and my whole world began to spin. I felt dizzy the moment I realized that I was outside, and white puffs of light came into my vision. Looking around, I gathered that I was standing in the middle of a dark street, in my pajamas, barefoot.

  Then I remembered the voice. It had come from behind me. Spinning around, I found Blake focusing on me with a distraught stare. Then I realized where I was: I was standing in the middle of Estate Lane.

  “Blake ...” I swallowed, trying to find more words, but nothing came to mind.

  “What are you doing out here so late?” he asked sternly as he approached me, still keeping his distance. He was probably afraid of me or what I might do. Hell, by that point, so was I.

  “Um” was all I could find to say. I don’t think my heart had ever beaten so fast. I grasped my chest in order to try and calm it down, but it didn’t help. Maybe I would go into cardiac arrest, allowing me an easy way out of this embarrassing and confusing situation.

  “Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?” he asked again, taking a few steps closer.

  I nodded, my wobbly legs falling a few steps backward, finally finding the curb. I collapsed down on it and began to rub my temples using my forefingers.

  “Would you like me to get you something to drink, or eat? You don’t look so good.” His voice sounded frantic in my now ringing ears.

  I shook my head. For some reason, the idea of him leaving me scared me more than anything. “No, please don’t leave. I will ... be fine. Just give me a sec.”

  A couple more deep breaths later, I felt that I was able to communicate again. “You scared the crap out of me,” I choked out.

  “I scared the crap out of you? What are you doing out here so late, Meredith?” he demanded, and I could tell that his voice held a bit of anger in it.

  In all honesty, I had no idea what I was doing out there. I had no idea how I had just walked almost two miles without fully realizing it. I had been dreaming about walking, but I hadn’t realized that I was actually walking. The only way to answer his question was to lie; I mean, I didn’t want to add “walking zombie” to my grand list of qualities.

  “Just ta-taking a walk. Ne-needed to get out of the house for a while,” I answered, barely getting out each word. I stared at the ground, in hopes of avoiding any eye contact, knowing that would make the lie easier to pull off.

  “Walking late and way out here all alone is probably not a good idea,” he said firmly, his tone ripping through my already wounded ego.

  “You are out walking—late and by yourself,” I said in defense, starting to regain my normal heartbeat.

  He chuckled. “That’s a very accurate observation.”

  And when a smile crossed his face, I began to feel more at ease.

  “Do you realize that you’re wearing just a nightshirt and you’re barefoot?” he questioned, trying to suppress his smile.

  I nodded. What else could I do? Deny it?

  “Would you like me to walk you home?” he asked.

  I nodded again.

  As I shifted my body to stand, it jarred my vision and my legs began to feel unsteady. Noticing this, Blake reached out, grabbing me and holding me steady.

  “You can tell me, you know,” Blake said as we began to walk.

  My heart sank. “Tell you what?”

  “Anything. I just might understand more than you think.”

  In a weird way, I felt like I could tell him and that he would understand. But I couldn’t.
How could I possibly explain to him that I had visions of creepy men and weird dreams of the past and that I sleepwalked? That was definitely not the type of conversation I wanted to have with a guy who I was possibly interested in. It actually wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have with anyone.

  “Okay, when you are ready, then,” he said, squeezing my arm, which he was still holding.

  Chapter Twelve

  The next morning I awoke to the sound of rain. It felt like I hadn’t slept in a decade, but that was probably because I hadn’t slept much the previous night. It almost seemed like a dream, walking all the way over to Estate Lane and running into Blake. But it hadn’t been a dream. The cuts that still lingered on the bottoms of my feet gave me a quick reminder of that the moment they touched the floor. I could also still smell Blake’s scent all over me. He had practically carried me the entire way home. Despite the pain my feet were giving me, I got ready quickly, knowing I would have a long and painful walk to work in the rain. It was times like that that I really regretted not having a car.

  When I got downstairs, I saw that Aunt Rose had left me a note:

  It was raining when I left this morning, so I asked Jack to come and give you a ride to work. He should be here around 8:45 a.m.

  AR

  I exhaled, knowing that I would be able to avoid the wet and painful walk to work all because I had the best aunt in the world. A part of me did not feel like I deserved someone like Aunt Rose. She was so caring, loving, and sweet. My life would probably not be so difficult if I had just inherited one of those traits. Glancing up at the clock, I realized I still had about ten minutes before Jack would show up. I ate my breakfast slowly, knowing there was no need to rush. Just after rinsing my bowl in the sink, I heard two honks coming from out front. I grabbed my purse and backpack and headed toward the door.

  “Hey Meredith, do you think you would be okay alone in the house for a few days?” Jack asked as we pulled up to the stop sign at Maple Avenue.