by K. S. Thomas
Fine. There’s no denying my ability to attract douchebags is frighteningly impressive. And the horse thing? Whatever, that one I like. It’s not like I’m putting forth any effort in either department. Men and I are done. Whatever entertaining notions I enjoyed while fucking with Cowboy, were exactly that. Entertaining.
I don’t want more. I’m not capable of more. More would mean feeling. Would entail wanting. Desiring. And a slew of other emotions I haven’t experienced in over three years. And it’s not due to any stupid naïve intention of trying to keep my heart from breaking, nor is it as a result of having it broken by some poor slob who should have known better.
I can’t feel. I don’t have a heart. Period.
Torn between wanting to wander off again and worried I might run into Cowboy once more, resulting in attracting more unwanted attention from my sister, I stay standing in place staring blindly into the riding arena. I want to be a better aunt right now, but I can’t watch this farce of a riding lesson a moment longer without jumping the fence and taking over.
Thankfully, it doesn’t come to that because all of the horses have suddenly come to a unanimous stop.
“What’s happening now? It hasn’t been an hour already, has it?” I’m still no good at judging time. You can’t spend years forcing yourself to lose track of it and then turn around and have a feel for five minutes versus fifty. It’s all the same to me.
“It’s thirty minutes of riding and thirty minutes of horse play,” my sister informs me, still flaunting a noticeably snide undertone.
“I’m sorry, what exactly is horse play?” It sounds like torture. For the horses.
“Oh, the kids will get to groom one of the horses and then I think they dress him up or something.” The delight on my sister’s face is almost disturbing. She never was much of an animal person. Of course, the one thing that would draw her interest would have to include a makeover of sorts.
“Dress him up?” I’m still sorta hoping she misunderstood and interpreted something as simple as placing a blanket on a horse as putting a dress on it. I’m probably wrong though.
“Yeah. They have tutus for him and party hats and stuff. I saw pictures from other birthday parties. It’s totally adorable. Wait ‘til you see!” Only Kirsten would get this excited over a tutu.
“Sounds fantastic.” I resist the urge to twirl my finger in the air for added emphasis on my sarcasm. It came across plenty already.
“Lighten up, Quinn. This is a kid’s birthday party. Not some barrel racing event. You keep taking everything so seriously you’re going to ruin this for everyone, including your niece.” The mommy glare is back and I get it. Time to check myself. This is a kid’s party. I do need to lighten up. I just don’t have a fucking clue on how to do that anymore.
“Sorry, Kirsten,” I mumble as I fall in line behind her. Everyone is headed back to the barn to begin the horse play portion of the party. I guess I should find solace in the fact that they’re no longer calling them ponies.
Of course, as luck would have it, and I’m referring to my type of luck, the unlucky kind, Cowboy is standing right there in the aisle with Nox. When he sees the troop of five year olds being led inside by their fearless leader, a fifteen year old who probably spends her time mucking out stalls and doing every dirty job around here imaginable in exchange for whatever scrap of riding time she can get, he quickly unties the stunning black stallion and leads him into one of the nearby stalls.
But it’s too late. Kirsten saw him. “You. Here,” she orders me to her side like I’m one of the freaking five year olds she’s responsible for.
“Yeah, okay.” I nod and purposely walk in the opposite direction. Treating me like a kid is only going to make me want to act like one.
I take my place as far away from the scene as possible and lean against one of the full length stall doors. Its inhabitant is busy munching away on left over hay and couldn’t care less about my presence.
Meanwhile, Kirsten isn’t at all satisfied with my lack of involvement and promptly takes me from one extreme to the next.
“My sister. Quinn.” She points in my direction.
“What about your sister?” What could she possible be announcing about me now?
“They need a volunteer.” She’s smiling broadly, the satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. “You know about this stuff. Go help your niece.”
I swallow a sigh and start walking in their direction. When Cowboy comes out of the stall and takes the lead rope from the fifteen year old tour guide, I can’t help but snort loudly. Kirsten’s little stunt just backfired on her, big time.
“I can see why they requested a volunteer now. I wouldn’t trust you to handle this horse on your own either.” I pat the petite bay mare on her neck. She reminds me of my Jazz, but I try not to think about that now.
“The volunteer isn’t for the horse,” he grumbles and nods at the crowd of five year olds. “It’s for them. I don’t do kids.”
No shit.
“Well, then we’re in big trouble,” I whisper back. “Because I don’t either.”
Remembering my sister’s evil glare and my niece’s innocent smile, I do my best to get a grip. Maybe I’m not cut out to wrangle an entire party, but I know my way around at least one of these little minions.
“Sophie, come on up here with me.” I’ll just make her my guinea pig. Whatever Cowboy has planned for the kids, she’ll do first and I’ll wing it with the rest. No one will ever have to know the anxiety of this encounter is repeatedly bringing me to the brink of peeing my pants.
Chapter Two
Riker
“You want to tell me what the hell that was earlier today?” I shake my head at him, just in case he can’t tell from my tone how seriously disappointed I am in him right now. “What? You think she’s cute or something? Liked the way she smelled? Or maybe you just wanted to nibble on her soft skin a little.”
I’m mocking him.
I’m not mocking him.
He’s a fucking horse. I’m mocking my damn self.
“Well, whatever the hell it was, you better forget about it.” I lean against the wall of his stall and watch him continue to grind his grain between his teeth like I’m not even there. It’s all he ever does. Pretend I’m not there. And I’m the one he hates the least. Until today. Until her.
“I mean it, Nox. Whatever ideas are floating around that bigass head of yours, let ‘em go. Because she’s already gone. And she ain’t comin’ back.”
***
Quinn
“You’re being awfully quiet.” Kirsten’s always had a thing about pointing out the obvious. It’s kind of a family joke. One she’s not aware of so I’m super bummed I have no one to chuckle with right now. Not that I’m in the mood to chuckle. Not much in the mood to talk either, hence the being quiet, but I have a feeling my sister’s going to override my desire for silence right now.
“Just winding down. All those kids and moms all afternoon was a lot to process.” I stare out the window of her Beemer and hope this’ll be the end of it.
“We were barely there for three hours. How strenuous could that have been, Quinn?”
I’d really like to point out that Sophie is crashed out in the backseat right now, so I’m clearly not the only one who found the day to be exhausting, but then I realize comparing myself to a five year old is the sort of thing Kirsten would love to do for me, so I really won’t be doing myself any favors by doing so.
“Kirsten, I don’t want to go over this with you again. Mostly because I don’t know how many different ways to explain it to you.” Begrudgingly, I shift myself around to face her. “I understand that you mean well, I really do. And I appreciate everything you’re doing to try and include me in your group of friends, but it doesn’t matter how nicely you dress me up or how often you tell everyone about my time doing ‘missionary work overseas’,” I use my fingers for quotation marks on that one. I’m still stunned every time I hear her tell that story. “I’m
never going to fit in. And frankly, pretending to, is exhausting. But I do. I do it for you. I know how important it is for you that people think I’m just your normal, run of the mill girl, so I pretend. I act as normal as I can. But you have to know, that your normal, is not normal for me. It’s never going to be. Ever again.”
“Don’t say that.” Her pointy little nose scrunches up in disgust. “It’s only been a few months. Just give it some more time.”
“No. You’re not listening to me.” I bury my face in my hands. “That girl you think is going to make a reappearance after enough of an adjustment period. She’s dead. She doesn’t exist anymore. This,” I stab myself hard in the chest with both pointer fingers, “This girl, this anti-social, swears too much and can’t ever say the right thing anymore girl, is all that’s left. And you need to either accept it, or tell me you can’t.”
My sister is staring straight ahead at the empty road in front of her. “And what if I can’t? Huh? Then what? You leave? I can’t lose you all over again, Quinn.” I see a tear trickle down her cheek. Shit. This was the last thing I wanted. “I’m sorry if you feel like I’m putting too much pressure on you, but you’re my sister. Whatever hell you went through while you were gone, it was hell for me, too. And I get that you came back all jaded and broken and...and lost. But I don’t see why that has to be a permanent condition. You’re twenty-two for Christ’s sake. You have your whole life ahead of you.” She sniffles and presses her lips together, amping up her level of determination. “So, I don’t care if you’ve given up. I don’t care if you think this, this semi-lifeless ‘the whole world is grey’ Quinn is all that survived. I know that you’re wrong. And I’m going to keep having faith that the old you is still in there. And when she’s brave enough, she’ll come out again.”
I want to tell her she’s fooling herself. Truthfully, I want to scream it. But I don’t. I just nod my head and let her think I’m agreeing with her, or at the very least, considering the possibility, and then I go straight back to gazing blankly out the window. It’s been two months and watching the constant greenery fly by still fascinates me. The simple things. Those are the only things that matter to me now. Everything else just leads to trouble.
True to the roots of our relationship, Kirsten and I spend the remainder of the drive home in silence. It’s the only way we can both convince ourselves we each won the argument, and we’re both okay with that.
Thankfully, it’s just a ten minute cruise up the main drag before I can see the driveway that winds its way up to the Bernheimer mansion. I’m not exaggerating either. The place has seven bedrooms and nine bathrooms. And when they bought it a year ago, there were only three of them. Kirsten, Sophie and Kirsten’s husband, Nate.
But I know my sister. The second Nate came home with the promotion and the move back to his home state, she undoubtedly got online and found the most obnoxious, most expensive house she could find, and made it part of her negotiations. Because leaving Calabasas, California for some rinky-dink beach town in North Carolina would have seemed an unbearable sacrifice to her. She would have made sure she got something out of it. Even if it was something she didn’t actually want or need. Like this bigass house.
I’m not complaining though. It took me all of twenty-four hours to figure out how to move around the place without ever having to cross paths with anyone if I didn’t want to. And that was definitely a plus in my book.
Kirsten pulls the car into their massive six car garage and sighs loudly. Just in case I forgot how much I’m wearing on her. I didn’t.
“I’m going to take Sophie inside and let her finish her nap on the sofa in the family room. Think you can manage bringing in the stuff from the trunk?”
I nod. “No problem. Where do you want it all?” We’re talking piles upon piles of horsey themed presents which also, inexplicably, all have the color pink in common.
“The den will work. That way I can get to work on the thank you cards right away.” She’s already out of her seat and walking toward the back to retrieve Sophie, who’s sleeping in such an odd position I can only imagine the cramp she’s going to have in her neck when she wakes up.
“The den it is.” Because we wouldn’t want to fall behind on doing proper things like sending out thank you cards. I shake my head and shudder ever so slightly. Honestly, I don’t even know who this old Quinn is that Kirsten is so desperate to get back. Even in my most unscathed and undamaged condition, I was never anything like this girl she’s trying to revive now.
It takes me ten minutes to unload everything and stack it along the den’s back wall. When I wander into the kitchen, Kirsten is already in full dinner mode. She’s wearing an apron and everything. I don’t know where she gets it from. The only one who ever wore an apron around our house growing up was our dad when it came time to break out the grill. And it was a highly inappropriate one he won at some stupid game during my uncle’s bachelor party. My mom always hated it. But that never stopped him from wearing it.
“Sophie still passed out?” I don’t know why I’m asking. It’s pretty clear from the deafening silence around here that she’s sleeping.
“Sure is. All this ranch work today wiped her out. I don’t know how you used to do it day in and day out. I got tired just watching the kids ride for half an hour today.” She chuckles, snapping the end off of another green bean.
I crinkle my nose, trying hard to stay focused and not get derailed on the million and one arguments I’d like to make right now. Starting with the fact that the kids weren’t actually riding as much as they were sitting while being led around in circles, and ending with an exasperated ‘You’re tired? After the shit you gave me in the car, you’re tired?’ But, I let it all go and smile instead. “Well, if you don’t need my help with anything else right now, I think I’m going to head down to the sand and go for a run. Maybe clear my head a bit.”
Kirsten just gives me an open ended nod, which is meant for me to interpret. She likes those. Makes her feel like she’s giving me the freedom to make the right decisions for myself. Or, at least what she believes the right decisions are. This move never really works in her favor though. Just because I know that what she wants for me to say is, oh, never mind, let me strap on an apron help you snap the ends off those green beans while I study your every move so I can become Suzie Homemaker for myself one day, does not mean I’m going to do it.
“Alright, then. See ya.” I wave and take off for the stairs leading down to the basement. I can picture her standing behind me, jaw dangling in the air, but I don’t turn around to see.
As soon as I reach the last step, I fling open the door and Harley comes jumping at me. I hate that this is the only part of the house Kirsten deems dog approved, but I have no room to complain after everything she did for him while I was gone.
“Hey, boy.” I tousle the long hair around his neck and give him a good scratch behind his left ear where he likes it. “Wanna go for a run?” He barks loudly. Call me crazy, but my dog understands me better than most humans.
“Let’s do it.” He barks again and follows me across the large room doing his little kangaroo hop. Harley lost his left front leg a few years ago after an accident that nearly killed him. He’s made a full recovery since then, and even without the leg, he gets around just as well as he did before. Sometimes people are shocked when they see him down at the beach and realize he only has three legs. When he’s running at full speed, you can’t even tell.
The entire lower level is essentially my domain now. Kirsten complains that it smells of wet dog, so she only comes down here when she absolutely has to. You’d be surprised how often that’s the case. The space was initially designed to be some sort of a man cave/ game room, so it’s got all sorts of little perks, like a fully stocked bar and a mini kitchen. Not to mention, the pool table, the pin ball machine and the big screen TV complete with every video game ever made. I think Nate’s pretty bummed I live down here, actually, but, it’s where Kirsten put Harley,
so it’s where I am. Unfortunately, all the fancy extras are going completely to waste on me. Not counting the use I make of the TV and my sister’s NetFlix subscription.
I dig through the dresser in the corner and pull out my shorts and tank top. Then, having lost any sense of privacy and inhibition, I change, right there in the center of the room with the wall of windows leaving me completely on display for anyone who might be walking by outside. It’s a private beach though, so even if I was shy, I wouldn’t be too worried.
Last but not least, I grab a cold bottle of water from the fridge behind the bar and head out through the back door leading directly to the sand.
I’ve been going for daily runs out here since I arrived. They’ve been my escape. My temporary check out from life. Reality. I know it seems odd to Kirsten that I need to take these breaks from the lavish lifestyle she’s providing for me, but mostly this lap of luxury I’ve been dropped in is like constant sensory overload. Some days I think I almost miss the way things were before. But that’s not real either. It’s just a broken mind thinking broken thoughts. So, I run. To keep from thinking all together.
Usually, I turn left and head straight for the inlet. There’s less houses along that stretch of sand, which generally translates into less people. Today, however, I can see a crowd of at least fifty just a few places down from Kirsten’s. They’ve got tents set up and a volley ball game going from what I can tell. And there’s kids running wild between the water and what appears to be some sort of a sand village they’re all working on.
“I don’t know about you, Harley, but I’m not feeling all of that.” I gesture my hand in midair as if I can somehow wipe out the scene before me. “Guess we’re taking an unexplored route today.” I turn right. As always, there’s a few scattered umbrellas straight ahead, but they now seem a lot more manageable than they did yesterday.
I reach into my pocket for my ear buds and insert them into my ears. Scrolling through my playlist I tap the first song that has enough bass to drown out the world and blast it. Harley’s still sitting at my feet, just waiting for me to give him the go ahead.