by Hope Collier
“All right. Will you come the week after next then? Or even mid-week? Please?” he nearly begged, which was atypical for my father. He didn’t ask; he demanded. And more than that, he never begged.
“Yes. Look, I’ll talk to Kevin and see what we have going on, and we’ll try to get up there as soon as we have time.”
“You can come without him. You know that, right?”
“Yes, Dad, I do realize that Kevin’s presence is not required for my trip, I just thought you might want to get to know each other a little better, you know?”
“Right,” he said dryly.
I sighed and opened my mouth to say goodbye, but Charlie interrupted me.
“Well, what are you doing with yourself this summer?” he pressed, pushing the conversation into the realm of uncomfortable.
“Uh, I don’t know yet. Kev mentioned us going to Europe for a few weeks, I think.” I tried to sound excited, but I wasn’t so confident about the recent change in my relationship status. Though it was nowhere near official, Kevin had been hinting at him filling a more permanent position.
“So, have you guys … discussed anything?” he hinted, his voice gruff with poorly masked irritation.
“Yeah, we’ve not really talked about stuff,” I said, my thoughts going a thousand different directions. “That kind of thing is a long way off.”
“Sure. Well, I guess just let me know if y’all end up going to Europe. I’ll set you up with what you need.” Charlie’s sudden acceptance caught me off guard. He was usually trying to convince me to wait on men in general, though Kevin seemed to hold a special place on my father’s blacklist.
“Yeah, I’ll keep you up with everything.” I looked at the clock. “Well, Kev’s waiting for me, so I guess I’ll talk to you later.”
A long silence passed.
“Dad? Are you there?”
“Yes… but before you go, just promise you’ll come soon, with or without Kevin. I’d like a chance to talk to you, really talk.”
“No problem, Dad. We’ll come soon. I promise.”
Charlie sighed, frustration seeping through. “All right then. Take care of yourself out there.”
“Sure. Talk to you later.”
“Goodbye, Ashton.”
The impossibility of not ever having the opportunity to be with my father again hit me with sudden force. I couldn’t call him. I couldn’t see him. My time was over. Granted, I didn’t take advantage of those opportunities before, but I knew they were at my disposal. It kept me selfish. It meant I could hold the cards; I could call the shots. And I’d used it to manipulate situations to fit my will.
Why wasn’t I closer? Why didn’t I go see him when he invited me last week? It was too late to fix now. My family was gone, and I was alone.
Grief swam in my chest and my knuckles ached around my pajama shirt. Just leave it alone. I unclenched my fists and opened the bag with my Zune and favorite book inside. I sat the MP3 player and dock on the bathroom vanity, and tuned it to quiet harp music with Gymnopedie No. 1 playing first.
Slipping into the tub, I wanted to forget everything and everyone. My ragged collection of Tennyson’s poetical works waited on the floor. I flipped through to The Lady of Shalott — the poem Gabe had quoted from earlier — but I couldn’t get into it. Gabe’s rich voice echoed in my mind.
Laying the book aside, I sank below the surface, and stared at the scalloped ceiling from beneath the water. I thought about the lady in the poem and how she might have felt living as a non-human in a world that didn’t accept her. A vision of Arthurian Camelot filled my imagination. The fairy-lady in her confinement, watching the world pass by through no more than a reflection — always existing on the outside. Till suddenly, what she never knew her heart longed for most appears, only to have no hope of attaining it. Not only hopeless but cursed.
An impossible situation.
My nose broke the surface, and I blinked as droplets filtered through my lashes and into my eyes.
It seemed that my Zune was set on shuffle because the previously relaxing tune had morphed into a melancholy account of the same grief that clouded around me. Unable to hold it in any longer, my sorrow echoed off the marble walls. Finally, the water turned cold, leaving me to only hot tears.
I struggled out of the tub, toweled off, and forced myself into pajamas. Empty and bewildered, I collapsed on the bed and fell into a restless sleep.
***
Darkness opened to a dense unfamiliar forest. Slivers of light filtered through the canopy above, breaking through the green that sheltered me as thickly as a rooftop. Sweat trickled down the back of my neck, though I shivered with cold. My hands chafed against my bare arms as I searched an empty wood.
The sharp snap of breaking sticks drew my attention to an opening in the vegetation. A familiar silhouette made his way through the gap.
“Gabe?” The thick air sat heavy in my chest, sapping my voice of power. Gabe strode toward a body of water barely discernable through the trees. Moisture trailed across my skin and my shirt clung to my back. My muscles burned as I pushed my legs harder, trying to close the space between us. He turned his face every now and then, wearing the same torn expression but never stopped moving toward the water.
“Ashton?” The distorted whisper of my name echoed from behind me.
“Charlie?” I pivoted. A gust of wind carried a wave of dead leaves across the empty path.
As I turned back, the scenery shifted. I was alone inside the cemetery where my father was to be buried. Dusk settled in quickly, smothering the sun behind the mountains. Rolling fog snaked around faceless headstones, casting shadows that swayed with the breeze. I shivered and struggled forward, my fists pulled tight to my chest as I tiptoed around the graves.
The shadow of a massive oak stretched across the land, the clouds casting the ground in a sick shade of green. A chill swept my hair into my eyes, carrying the scent of rotting earth and decay. The profile of a coffin sat in the shade beneath the trees. Darkness stretched from the outline of the forest as if it reached for me, drawing me closer. My feet moved of their own accord as the crunch of dead leaves sounded under their path.
A gust of wind howled through the passage, turning my stomach as the scent of death filled my lungs. Suddenly, the lid swung open with a groan. Dread seized me, my uncontrolled gaze drifting across the figure inside. Gray long sleeved shirt, hands folded across the torso … I froze as the face came into view. It wasn’t my father that lay pale and lifeless. It was Gabe. A hot metallic taste coated my tongue as my teeth sank into it to keep from crying out. Finally, my knees buckled, and I crumpled to the ground in despair.
CHAPTER SIX
A Carnival of Truth
I jerked up in bed panting and soaked in sweat. Images of Gabe lying ashen in a coffin burned in my memory. I shuddered at the thought of my Gabe being gone … then I remembered he wasn’t my Gabe at all.
With a deep breath, I lay back down and closed my eyes. Piano music from my Zune continued softly in the background, lulling me into unconsciousness. I imagined my own fingers moving across the keys — something that had become a habit since beginning to play at the age of five. Before the first melody was over, I was close to slumbering again, or perhaps the place in-between. Whatever the state, I almost smelled Gabe’s blissful aroma. Serenity enveloped me as I shivered only once before surrendering to pleasant warmth.
A strip of white light traced the border of the heavy drapes as I sat up and stretched. Oh! My eyes popped wide. The clock read 11:50 am. I’d slept the morning away!
“Crap-dang it!” I tumbled out of bed, my legs tangled in the blanket, and thumped my arm on the nightstand. Rubbing my sore elbow, I hurried to my bag and chose the first thing I came to: artificially-faded plaid shorts and a Kelly green tank top. Hopping on one foot, I jerked my pajamas off and dressed quickly.
“Good morning!” Gabe smiled when I came into the kitchen. “Or should I say afternoon? Is it still technically mornin
g?”
“I am so sorry. I can’t believe I slept this late. This never happens.” I mentally kicked myself for getting so worked up last night. I felt like an idiot this morning like I knew I would.
“Hey, it’s fine.” He rubbed my arm and my heart stopped. “Don’t worry about it. Your body knows what it needs. You might try listening every now and then.”
I laughed nervously and forced my eyes to the table to see an elaborate brunch set out. “What’s all this?”
“I figured you’d be hungry.” He grinned. “Hope you like omelets.”
“I’m amazed there was food in the house to begin with.” I pulled a chair out and plopped down.
“About that, I borrowed your car to go to the grocery.” His eyebrows pulled together. “I didn’t want you to wake and have to go on an empty stomach.”
Heat warmed my face as I stared into his ocean-view eyes. He thought of me … that was sweet.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I said and looked down. “Thank you.”
A smile lit his face, giving him a boyish look. “You’re more than welcome, Gracie.”
We sat in silence as I shoveled my food in faster than I knew was ladylike, but everything tasted so delicious. I finished my last bite and looked at him. “That was fantastic. By far the best omelet I’ve ever had.”
Gabe smiled. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. It’s nice being useful.”
He shook his head and carried our dishes over to the sink.
“I’ll get these washed and—” he began.
“And I’ll dry,” I said before he could offer.
Gabe rolled the sleeves of his white button-down to his elbows and started the water. I squeezed a small amount of soap into the basin and waited for it to fill.
“So, are you up for some celebrating today?” I asked after he shut the faucet off. The dish slid through his fingers and fell into the sink, slopping us with soapy water.
“Sorry,” he muttered and handed me a dry dishtowel.
“And you call me Grace,” I teased.
Gabe smiled and dabbed a towel across his soaked garment; it clung relentlessly to his torso, fitting to the pattern of his sculpted chest and stomach. My eyes lingered on the faint gray pendant sitting at his breastbone. He made a pass across the dripping counter, and I would’ve offered to help, but I lost myself in the outline of his shirt.
“Celebrating?” he repeated, a wary look on his face.
“Well, yeah, it’s the fourth.”
Gabe’s eyebrows lifted as he turned his head toward me.
“The fourth,” I repeated, certain he understood. Nothing. “Of July?”
“Ohh,” Gabe breathed. “Yes, right. Independence Day. 1776. That was a big deal.” He grinned and reached up to smooth a loose strand of hair from his forehead. A white square of bandage grabbed my attention.
Gabe caught me staring at his dressing.
“I’m sorry about last night,” he muttered, offering the last plate.
“You’re sorry? It was my fault. I shouldn’t have freaked out like that.”
“You had every right to react the way you did,” he insisted.
“Regardless, you needed help, and I just bailed on you.” I stretched on my tiptoes to put a glass mixing bowl in the cabinet.
“I’ll get over it. A few years of counseling, some kind of support group or electroshock therapy, but eventually, I’ll cope,” he teased.
“In that case, send me the bill.” I nudged his arm.
Gabe’s smile melted as his gaze shot to the shelf over my head. I followed his gaze to see a glass mixing bowl teetering on the edge of the shelf. In a flash, his body pinned me to the counter, his arms over my head. Gabe’s knee slid in between mine as he forced the bowl back into place, and my heart sprang into my throat. The scent of cedar swam in my chest, drowning me with the need to be closer.
Gabe looked down at me, his hair curling into his eyes. I bit my lip and reached up to brush it back into place. My focus trailed to his mouth. It was entirely perfect … and entirely alluring.
The sharp clang of a skillet tipping over caused us both to start.
Gabe backed away, wearing a tight smile.
“You’d think this place is haunted or something.” I sucked in a shaky breath.
“Maybe.” He laughed once and moved to pick up the fallen cookware.
“I need to take care of a few things.” I made for the stairs, my face flushed with desire and embarrassment. “But we can ramble around town after, if you’d like.”
“Sure. Do what you need to.” Gabe’s eyes met mine as he shoved his hands in his shorts pockets. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I so wanted to take that as a promise.
“I’ll be back in a few.” My voice wavered as I climbed the stairs. He nodded and disappeared to the parlor.
With my cell phone MIA, I needed another way to get in touch with Harry. My laptop sat on the mahogany writing desk in front of my bedroom window. I connected and opened my email, ignoring any not from Harry. The most recent he sent held one word in the subject box: Arrangements.
Dread twisted my insides as I clicked on the message and scrolled down to the body. The email was short and to the point. Harry briefed me on the time and place where the funeral was to be held, making quick mention that I hadn’t returned his phone calls, and finally asked if I wanted to hold a private ceremony.
I responded in the same stoic manner as Harry had written, apologized for not returning his calls, and told him my phone disappeared. Pressing send, I logged off and tried to shake off the depression that accompanied any thought of Charlie.
Gabe waited for me in the driveway; knowing eyes raked over me in concern. I forced a smile, but he didn’t seem to buy it.
“You ready to go?” I chimed, climbing into the car.
His eyes searched mine, but he nodded.
The winding road led us back toward the shops. The quaint town overflowed with people as we rolled into the city limits. Posters and flyers clung to every noticeable surface announcing the events planned for the day. I found an available parking space and pulled in.
Live music and children’s laughter filled the atmosphere with excitement and a sense of wellbeing. The smell of funnel cake and corn dogs tickled my nose as my eyes flitted from the Ferris wheel to the brightly colored game tents.
“Ooh, a carnival!” I stared through the windshield at the festivities. “You want to go have some fun?” I grinned playfully.
Gabe shook his head as we climbed out, but his eager smile belied his casual attitude. I knew he wanted to play as much as I did.
“Oh, come on. Let’s go win a bunch of junk we don’t need.” I tugged on his hand.
His eyes warmed, but still, he shook his head no.
“You worried I might show you up?” I teased.
He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “All right, Gracie, show me what you’ve got.”
Gabe made his way toward the makeshift game booths. We paused in front of a pierced teenager manning a game with a few softballs and an angled basket. Gabe pulled out a crumpled wad of cash and paid the attendant.
“Ladies first.” He gestured toward the pyramid of three balls.
“Thank you.” I smiled. “Watch and learn.” I lifted the first one and lobbed it toward the wicker container. It met the rim with a clank and shot to the side, grazing the punctured youth in the knee. He stifled a groan and took a step back.
“Sorry! Sorry!” My ears burned red.
Gabe let out a snort of laughter.
“Something funny?” I asked.
“Nope.” He battled a smile.
“Let’s see you pull it off.” I tossed him the second ball.
Gabe stepped up beside me and flicked his hand forward. The ball floated from his fingertips and settled along the inside wall of the basket.
“Show off,” I muttered. He winked on a grin, and his dimples sank in.
“It’s all in the wrist.” H
e moved behind me. “Here, I’ll show you. Grab that last ball.”
I squeezed it in my palm, blood rising in my cheeks as his body settled into mine.
“You have to hold it softly, like an egg,” he whispered, his breath tickling my ear. Gabe’s palm slid over the back of my hand, encouraging my grip to loosen. His body moved flat against mine, and heat flooded the places they touched. The rhythm of his heart beat against my back, drumming in my head as if it were my own. I forced a slow steady breath through my nose, hoping he didn’t notice my reaction.
“Relax.” His free hand glided down my other arm. I closed my eyes, trying not to hyperventilate.
“Now, hold the ball facing down and flick your wrist to create backspin.”
His chest flexed as he demonstrated the motion, sending me into arrhythmias. I opened my eyes in time to see the ball glide through the air and catch the inside lip. It rolled in next to the first.
“Perfect,” he commended. “Nice throw.”
“I did it!” I turned and wrapped my arms around his neck, realizing the moment my chest met his, what I was doing.
“Yes, you did,” Gabe’s voice lowered, his hands tightening around my waist for a brief moment. “You’re a natural.”
The shadow of carnival rides stretched over the grounds throughout the afternoon. Gabe’s eyes lingered on me as we played games and shopped the different venders. By the time we circled the grounds, our arms overflowed with knickknacks.
“Do we have enough junk we don’t need now?” Gabe smiled at me.
“I think we have enough for ten people.” I laughed. “You never lose.”
Gabe held his finger up and jogged across the parking lot to a group of young kids climbing into a bus. The writing on the side said Children’s Home. I looked on with a smile as he talked with a worker, gesturing to the toys. The worker nodded enthusiastically.
Gabe knelt down to their height and divvied out our winnings among the smiling faces. Squeals rang across the parking lot as each child jockeyed for position. Gabe, lost in the mix, laughed and ruffled the hair of the smallest boy as he handed him a fuzzy green alligator. His smile warmed as a little girl in pigtails wrapped her arms around his neck.