Remington's Tower

by Katharine Sadler

  I scrunched up my face. “Yes, but I wouldn’t use those words.”

  He laughed and my nervousness vanished. This was Worthy. I trusted and loved him and I had no reason to be worried about anything when he was with me. “What words would you use?”

  I shrugged, trying to come up with something, but drawing a complete blank. Why hadn’t I read more books about slang terms for sex. “What are my options?”

  “Having sex, getting it on, doing the horizontal tango.” He shook his head. “Why does it matter what we call it?”

  I grabbed the hem of his shirt and tried to pull it up and over his head, but he didn’t move enough for me to reach my goal. “Are you sure?” he asked. “This first time won’t be fun for you.” He grimaced. “Or so I’ve heard.”

  “I’m sure,” I said. “If it’s bad, we just won’t do it anymore. You’d be okay with that right?”

  “Of course.” The sincerity in his eyes made the smile slip from my face. I actually believed he was serious.

  “Okay, then,” I said. “Let’s give it a try.”

  He smiled and then he kissed me, slowly and teasingly, his jean-covered thigh between my legs, but not touching me where I wanted him. “Please,” I said.

  He obliged me, and slid down to my breasts. The way he touched and kissed me felt worshipful, like he thought I was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, and while he touched me I felt gorgeous. I’d never cared about being beautiful before, not really. I’d cared more about how strong my body was and where it could take me. I’d always figured my mind and my actions mattered more than how I looked. But in that moment, feeling beautiful and loved made me feel like I was floating. And then Worthy groaned, like just touching me and kissing me was driving him crazy and I felt powerful.

  I tried to pull him back up to my mouth and kiss him again, because the anticipation was killing me, but he moved farther down me instead and placed sweet kisses to my core. I rocked against his mouth and heard myself speak his name in a begging tone. He didn’t need any more encouragement. He stopped the teasing and got down to business and I was soaring in moments. It felt so good that I kind of forgot where we were headed, until he sat up and slid a condom over his length. He looked at me. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure,” I said. “But I’m about to drop off into an orgasmic coma, so get on with it.”

  I wasn’t really in any hurry, but it was fun to tease him. He mock-scowled and moved over me, his body touching mine from head to toes. And then he was inside me. It hurt, I’m not going to lie, but the look in his eyes, of desire and love and concern, made it hurt a whole lot less. He rocked into me gently and slowly, until I was starting to feel pretty good. I didn’t expect to have an orgasm my first time, but his body was rubbing against mine in just the right place and before I even realized what was happening, I was breaking apart and shattering into pleasure again. He came with me and collapsed beside me, his breathing heavy.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m amazing,” I said. “Maybe I’ll consider doing that again some time.”

  He laughed and left me long enough to get rid of the condom and clean up. But he was back by my side before I had time to miss him and he wrapped me up in his warm arms. I snuggled down against him, and noticed again the picture of his family on his dresser. Even though we’d spent so much time together and we’d just done the most intimate thing two people can do, there was still so much I didn’t know about him.

  “What’s your family like?”

  He yawned and kissed my neck. “Why do you want to know?”

  “I want to know everything about you.” I spun in his arms and faced him. “I don’t even know what your major is.”

  “Education,” he said around another yawn.

  “Shut up.” It wasn’t that I couldn’t see him as a teacher, but it surprised me. Since he was friends with my cousin and I knew he had a heavy course-load, I’d just assumed he planned to be a lawyer or an accountant or something of the sort.

  He chuckled. “I’m serious, Remy. I want to be a teacher.”

  I studied his face, looking for the joke. “Then why are you taking that econ class and a marketing class?”

  He smiled and his eyes got a bit of a faraway look. “Because some day I want to run my own summer camp. A real outdoorsy one where kids can learn to survive in the woods and rock climb and hike. It’s probably not going to happen for a lot of years, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to take some business classes.”

  It’s completely crazy, but an image popped into my head of the two of us, surrounded by a herd of kids, running a camp together. I’d known since I was thirteen that I wanted to be a park ranger, because it allowed me the most time to be outside, in the woods. I’d never considered camp director as a possible profession. “That sounds amazing,” I said. “What made you want to do that?”

  He sighed. “My dad died when I was eight and I…I didn’t handle it well. My mom was suddenly a single parent and she was working all the time to keep us fed and clothed. My grandmother took care of us when we weren’t at school, and I made life very difficult for her. I ran away more than once, and I stayed out late with the neighborhood kids getting into as much trouble as an eight-year-old can. When I was brought home by the cops at nine, my grandmother convinced my mother to send me to summer camp. An eight-week summer camp. I know it wasn’t cheap, but my grandmother chipped in as much as she could and my mom took on extra hours at work and they got me there. That camp changed my life.”

  “What was it like?”

  “It was a true outdoorsy camp,” he said. “In the middle of nowhere, with run-down cabins and campfires every night. The counselors kept us busy and they taught us so much. I learned to rock climb and ride horses and I learned how much I loved hiking and being outside. I also learned about respect and I learned to take on responsibility. I went back to that camp every summer until my grandmother died when I was fourteen. My mom needed me at home after that to help her take care of my brothers.”

  “That sounds amazing. So why teaching? Is it just a means to an end?”

  “No,” he said. “You’d think I’d be sick of kids after taking care of my brothers for so many years, but I’m not. I want to be that person who can be there for a kid, see that they have more to offer, and help them figure out how to achieve their goals.”

  “You’ll be an amazing teacher.” For the first time I questioned my own path. I wanted to be a park ranger so I could be close to nature, but there was so much more of the world I hadn’t seen or tried out and I wondered if there might be another career I’d enjoy just as much.

  “And you’ll be an amazing park ranger.” He snuggled me close and we fell asleep together.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Leon’s house was full of boxes and the smell of turkey and pies baking. I should have been happy to be home, but I felt out of it, a bit lost in a fog. I missed Worthy. Over the past month and a half, I’d seen him every day and shared his bed almost as often. I’d gotten pretty attached to the guy and even being able to talk to him on the phone or text him every day during the Thanksgiving break wasn’t enough. I never thought I’d pine for a man, but I just couldn’t stop thinking about him.

  And my distracted thoughts had already gotten me in trouble more than once. I’d been ambushed by Keats and Tennyson the first time I’d gone for a walk in the woods. They’d pinned me to the ground and given me a lecture about always being aware of my surroundings, especially on a college campus. It was a rookie mistake to be taken down by those two idiots. They stomped through the forest like elephants, and I should have heard them.

  I walked back to the house, rubbing my shoulder and nursing my pride. Byron was on the front porch, strumming away at his guitar. He laughed when he saw me. “I knew they’d get you.”

  “Shut up.” I started to go past him, but he stopped me with a hand on my shoulder.

  “What’s going on with you? You not feeling well?”
<
br />   “No. It’s…I just…” How could I tell Byron I was missing Worthy and not get teased about it for the rest of the long weekend? I couldn’t. “I’m missing my friends, I guess.”

  “You worried about Frankie?”

  “No, I…Wait? What about Frankie? Did you hear something?”

  Byron frowned. “No, I saw it. Saw that asshole boyfriend of hers at a party and he was making out with a girl who was definitely not Frankie.”

  “Shit,” I said. “I don’t like that guy.”

  He grunted in agreement. “Harrison told the guy off, even took a swing at him. Frankie got mad at Harrison. She was at the same party and her guy was kissing another girl, and she got mad at Harrison.” He shook his head, his expression dark. “That’s a whole other class of crazy.”

  “Poor Harrison.”

  “Yeah, he’s had it bad for that girl for a while, but I think her getting mad at him for defending her ended his infatuation.”

  I sat down on the top porch step. “Can’t say as I blame him. What should I do about her?”

  “Nothing you can do,” Byron said. “Except be there for her in case she needs you.”

  I rested my head against the railing. “How’d you get so wise?”

  “Born that way.” He started strumming again, but I knew he’d stop if I made an attempt to talk. I didn’t want to talk about Worthy, and I couldn’t think of anything else to talk about.

  “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Worthy,” he said, as though he could hear my thoughts. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you creeping out of his room every other morning.”

  I reared back. “Byron Manfred McKinney, I do not creep.”

  “Yeah, you do. You totally creep around like everyone in the frat house doesn’t already know what the two of you have been getting up to with all the noise you make.” He screwed up his face in disgust. “Seriously, Remington, have a little consideration for your brother who’s just down the hall.”

  I was almost certain he was messing with me, because neither Worthy nor I was loud, but I was uncertain enough that I could feel my cheeks heating with a blush. “It can’t be any worse than me bumping into one of your conquests in the hall,” I said, although it had only happened once. “Just pick a girl, Byron, and make an honest woman of her. Your slutty behavior is embarrassing.”

  He grinned, not bothered at all, damn it. “I’m too young to settle down. Unlike you and Worthy. I expect to be getting a wedding invitation in the mail any day now.”

  That one struck a little too close to the target, because I had wondered from time to time if I’d gotten too serious too fast with the first guy I’d ever really liked. Not that it was really an issue, since I hadn’t seen another guy I was remotely interested in. “I doubt you’ll be invited to the wedding.”

  He paled a bit. “Remington, I was just joking around. You two aren’t really talking about getting married are you? I mean Worthy’s a good guy, but you have to finish college, Sis.”

  I gave him my best version of an enigmatic smile and walked inside, letting the door slam behind me. Byron could just wonder and worry for a little while. It was good for him not to have all the answers all the time.

  I found Betty inside, kneading bread to go with the beef stew we’d be having for dinner that night. I sat down at the table and watched her work. “Did you tell my father about me?”

  She didn’t stop kneading, just gave me a look over her shoulder. “Of course I did, honey. I try to get out to see him about once a month. Why do you ask?”

  “I’ve been thinking about going to see him, but I’m…” I just couldn’t admit weakness, not even to Betty. “I just haven’t found the time and I wondered if he’d been expecting me.”

  Betty paused and looked over at me. She returned her attention to her dough. “He knows you might be by, but he understands you have a world of reasons not to want to see him. He won’t be angry or hurt if you don’t visit.” She smiled at me. “He’s a charming man when he wants to be, Remy, and he has no anger for you. He’ll be kind to you, if you do decide to see him.”

  “Oh,” I said, uncomfortable that she’d seen through my pretense. “I figured.”

  I watched her work. Her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, and her forearm muscles flexed and flowed as she worked. I didn’t see any cookbook in front of her and it looked like good, hard work, kneading bread. Good, mindless work. “Think you could show me how to do that?”

  Betty stopped and gave me a dazzling smile. “Come on over. I’ll show you whatever you want.”

  “I brought some photo albums,” Betty said. She put the dough we’d kneaded into a bowl so it could rise. “If you’re ready, I thought you might like to see pictures of you and your daddy when times were better.”

  “I’d love that,” I said. “I could use some good memories to replace the bad.”

  She bustled off to the back of the house and returned moments later with a thick photo album. She set it on my lap and I stroked the shiny cover. It was leather, tooled with small flowers. My heart raced and a part of me wanted to hand the book back to her and run out of that room. It seemed safer somehow not to remember ever loving my father or having good times with him. It seemed safer to fear and hate him for what he did to me. I sucked in a deep breath to stop the dizzy feeling from taking over.

  I wanted to know the truth, all of the truth, and part of that was remembering the good in my father. I wasn’t a little girl, I reminded myself, and he couldn’t hurt me anymore. I opened the album and saw a picture of my mother at the beach, wearing a polka-dotted one-piece, her belly huge with me inside. She looked so happy, so free, and she held her belly and smiled down at it fondly. Like she couldn’t wait to meet me, I thought, even as I admitted that I’d never really know how she felt.

  “I’d never seen her happier than she was when she found out she was going to have a baby,” Betty said. “She was so excited to meet you.”

  My throat tightened and tears pricked my eyes. My mother had loved me and wanted me. I’d never doubted that, never been given reason to doubt it, but seeing it and hearing it from Betty made it all so much more real, somehow. I continued to flip through the book, through pictures of me as a baby and a toddler. My father had thrown huge, lavish parties for each of my birthdays and there were lots of pictures for each of them. In all of the pictures, my father was smiling and he looked so young and vibrant.

  A picture of the two of us when I was older, Betty said I was six, triggered a memory. Daddy had taken me to the carnival and he’d let me have everything I’d wanted. Games, rides, prizes, every kind of carnival food, he’d given it all to me with a smile and he’d held me and spun me around. I remembered spinning and spinning, and then being so sick, throwing up again and again while Daddy held my hair and rubbed my back. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s okay.” But even at six, I’d known it wasn’t okay. It was a happy memory, the first I had of him, but also a bad memory, and I suspected that ambivalence probably symbolized our relationship pretty well.

  As we looked at more pictures, more memories came back to me, some good, but most a mix of good and bad like the carnival memory. I didn’t tell Betty the bad. She’d already apologized to me more than I thought was healthy. I wouldn’t add more guilt to her load. She probably should have done something, taken me away from my father, but if she’d taken custody I’d never have been really free of my father and I probably wouldn’t be the person I was. I was grateful to her, even as I understood that she’d failed me in a basic, vital way.

  Toward the end of the book, there was a picture of a woman, with dark, curly hair, holding a baby in front of a small clapboard house. The woman and the house looked so familiar, but I couldn’t place them. Where had I seen them before? “Who is that?”

  Betty’s sharp intake of breath felt like an omen. “That’s Arle’s wife, sweetie. Arle and your uncle were best friends and I spent a lot of time with Allison as a result. She’s a good woman. I
still see her from time to time. Her boys do her and Arle a good credit.”

  “Arle,” I said, my heart beating too hard. “The man who tried to kill me.”

  She nodded, though I hadn’t asked a question, and rubbed my back.

  I turned the page and there was me, eight-years-old, playing with a little boy with dark curls and amber eyes. “That’s Allison’s oldest boy, Lawrence,” Betty said. “You and he played together more than a few times when you were kids. I think Byron was jealous of how close you two were.”

  I remembered then, a laughing little boy who I’d built block castles with. Knights defending the castle had been our favorite game. My throat tightened as I remembered where I’d seen that woman and that house before. “Lawrence Stanley?”

  “That’s right, sweetie. Allison changed back to her maiden name right after Arle died, changed the boys’ names, too. They all go by—”

  “Hayworth,” I said, my chest tightening, my breath sucked from my body.

  ***

  I returned to school with three loaves of bread and a batch of cookies that I’d made myself. Once I’d gotten the hang of it, I discovered I really liked making bread, but I especially loved eating fresh bread. Byron dropped me off with a shoulder pat and a smile. I hadn’t told him what I’d learned about Worthy, but I’d been grumpy enough the rest of the break that he’d noticed. He’d asked me a few times what was wrong, but backed off when I told him to butt out. I trudged up to my room, under the weight of my bag, looking forward to seeing Frankie and Bell and getting back into the routine of school. I found Worthy in the common room. He didn’t see me at first and I just looked at him. He was sitting on the floor, his back against the couch, and a book on the coffee table. He had his head propped on a hand and his focus on the book was intense, his eyes moving along with the words, his hair was mussed from him running his hands through it repeatedly. My heart swelled with love, but I pushed that feeling down. He’d betrayed my love. I suspected he’d been pretending the whole time.