Finding Bliss

by Dina Silver

  “No, no, it’s fine, either day works for me, I just thought you’d originally said we were leaving Sunday, but Saturday sounds great. I’m really looking forward to it,” I said.

  “Wonderful, then. Bless your heart; you’re so generous to accommodate our schedule. One more thing, our son Tylah is coming up Sunday evening to spend some time with friends who have a house down the lake from ours. I’m not sure how long he’s staying, maybe three or four days, but I’m sure he’ll stay out of your way. We hardly evahsee him when he’s there.”

  My fingers clenched tightly around the phone, and I opened my mouth to answer her but nothing came out.

  “Chloedear, are you there?”

  “Yes, of course,” I said finally.

  “See you Saturday, then.” Click.

  We arrived at the Reeds’ sprawling Victorian-style lake house that Saturday in the late afternoon, and the kids wasted no time jumping off the dock and floating around in oversized inner tubes. The house was a study in white. Not clean, contemporary, cool beach-house white; more like a wicker factory had sex with a garage sale. The house was dripping in lace curtains and flea market finds. The main sources of color were a collection of ceramic cookie jars displayed on the large, white built-in shelves that flanked the TV, and needlepoint pillows with quotes like “Friends Welcome” and “When I Count My Blessings, I Count You Twice,” which adorned nearly every white seat cushion in the house.

  The next day I took the kids into town where we got ice cream and watched fudge being made through the front window of the chocolate shop, then picked up a peach cobbler Mrs. Reed had ordered from her favorite local bakery. Tyler arrived that evening while we were all on the back patio having dinner. He walked out of the house holding a beer in one hand and texting with the other.

  “Hello, Tylah, darling.” His mother waved.

  Sammy and Sarah shouted in unison, “Hi, Tyler!”

  “Hey, squirts,” Tyler said. “Got a burger left for me, Dad?”

  Dr. Reed glanced at him and then turned his attention back to the grill. “Talked to Coach last night,” Dr. Reed started. “He said your sprint times were down this week.”

  Tyler rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Good to see you too.”

  Dr. Reed placed his spatula near the grill and went to pat Tyler on the shoulder like one would greet a German shepherd; then he took the beer out of Tyler’s hand and tossed it in the garbage. “One burger coming up,” his dad confirmed.

  Tyler glanced at his empty hand, and then at his mother.

  “Let him have what he wants, Jim,” Mrs. Reed said diffidently to her husband.

  “He’s got ten pounds to lose by next month. He’ll survive on one burger,” Dr. Reed said. “And stay away from the beer.”

  Tyler’s mom looked back at him and smiled. “Your father’s right, dear,” she concluded, and then changed the subject. “You remember Chloe, darling,” Mrs. Reed said, gesturing toward me with her hand.

  He turned just in time to catch me staring at him.

  “Yeah,” he said, acknowledging me with a nod.

  I smiled and then looked away. I wasn’t a shy person, and had had a string of boyfriends. I was responsible for earning my own money, paying my own bills, and my confidence never failed me…unless, of course, Tyler Reed was around.

  He took a seat at the table with us and began answering a barrage of questions from his brother and sister. He never looked at me, and I never took my eyes off him. The chair disappeared beneath his muscular build as he leaned back and rested his elbows on the armrests. I could see the edge of a tattoo peeking out from under his short sleeve. Sammy and Sarah hung on every last word about his practices and teammates, until their father chimed in and started to criticize Tyler for his unimpressive performance.

  “It’s embarrassing for me to hear from Coach that you’re not meeting expectations,” his dad said. “You’ve got appointments with three top agents next month, and every stat counts.”

  “It’s embarrassing for me to have you call him every fucking day.”

  “Tylah Alexandah Reed, I nevah!” his mother shouted.

  His father cut her off in the same tone. “Don’t you dare complain to me! If you were performing like you should be, I wouldn’t have to make the call every day. Do you have any idea what it’s like for me to hear you’re not playing as well as you should be? You have two months until you declare eligibility for the draft, and I will not tolerate anything less than stellar numbers.”

  Sammy, Sarah, and I sank into our seats and picked at our food as the two of them continued shouting at each other until Tyler abruptly stood and left.

  Mrs. Reed sniffed away the unpleasantries and regrouped with her best happy-hostess smile. “Who would like some cobbler?” she offered.

  The next morning, the Reeds left for the city, leaving me with Tyler and the kids. Which was much like leaving a cheetah and a gazelle alone in the house.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Mrs. Reed was right: Tyler did stay out of my way at first. Monday morning he grabbed a set of golf clubs from the garage, and then came back six hours later to shower before heading out again to visit a friend who lived across the lake. He eventually came home around three thirty in the morning. I did my best to keep the kids quiet during breakfast the following day and get them outside as early as possible without waking him. Around noon on Tuesday, the kids and I were at the dock at the bottom of the grassy hill picking up the mail, which was delivered to the lake houses by boat. We were sitting on the wood planks, and I was paging through a Pottery Barn catalog when I looked up and saw him. Tyler was at the top of the hill holding a coffee mug in nothing but a pair of cargo shorts. I waved, hoping he’d join us, but he just nodded and went back inside. That night as I was preparing dinner for Sammy and Sarah, he brushed past me to get to the fridge.

  “Are you going out tonight?” I asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m making pasta; would you like some? There’s plenty here,” I offered.

  “Sure.”

  Our eyes met up close for the first time, so I held his gaze as I spoke. “It’ll be ready in about ten minutes,” I told him.

  He nodded and walked outside.

  As the four of us ate dinner together in the kitchen, Sammy and Sarah did most of the talking. They were eager to tell him how we’d tried fishing off the pier with gummy worms to no avail. Occasionally I would steal a glance at Tyler when they had his attention and watch him balance his chair back on two legs, arms crossed over his expansive chest. It was seven o’clock, and he had yet to put a shirt on. Afterward, I cleaned up everyone’s mess, and he left. I put the kids to bed and fell asleep on the couch watching TV.

  Around one o’clock in the morning, I heard him come through the front door. I lay still, pretending I was asleep, and watched him go into the kitchen and grab a bottle of beer from the fridge before walking over to the TV and shutting it off. The room went dark. I couldn’t help but wonder whether Mrs. Reed would think I was responsible for the missing beers or if she would even notice. I closed my eyes as he got closer and felt his hand on my shoulder a moment later.

  “Hey,” he whispered.

  I opened my eyes to find him leaning over me.

  “Want to take a walk?” he asked.

  Holy shit, yes.

  I nodded and sat up. Tyler walked back into the kitchen and grabbed two more beers, then handed me one as we started down the hill to the small dirt path at the edge of the lake.

  “I don’t want to go too far, with the kids asleep and all,” I said.

  “Okay,” he said and sat down under the neighbor’s oak tree. He leaned his back against it and stretched his long legs out in front of him before twisting open his bottle. “How’ve you been?” he asked.

  “I’ve been good,” I answered and sat cross-legged next to him, but facing the water. “Thanks for asking.”

  “You still with Brian?”

  My eyes went wide.
“Wow, I’m impressed you remembered,” I said. “No, we broke up.”

  “What happened?”

  I shook my head and began peeling the label off my beer. “He cheated on me,” I confessed. Brian and I had begun to get serious our last semester of college, and dated for about four months before I walked in on him naked with his fraternity brother’s younger sister who was visiting for the weekend. Needless to say, I couldn’t wait to tell Brian’s friend, and he couldn’t wait to kick Brian’s ass.

  “Ouch,” he said, oddly amused.

  “Whatever. He was no prize…obviously.”

  “You’re going to law school, right?”

  “Yes, this fall,” I told him. “How about you? Notre Dame treating you well?”

  “Can’t complain,” he said and took a swig of his beer, nearly emptying the bottle in one gulp. “I have a year left.”

  “And then what? Are you hoping to be drafted?”

  “We’ll see.”

  “That would be exciting,” I said.

  “I guess.”

  “Is there something else you’d rather do?”

  He shrugged. “I just don’t see myself playing football forever. I’d like to maybe get into film one day.”

  “Acting?”

  He took a sip and shook his head. “Directing.”

  “How very Hollywood of you,” I said. “But it seems a face like yours should be in front of the camera, not behind it.”

  “It’s likely not going to happen,” he said.

  “I bet Sammy and Sarah would love to see you play football on national television.”

  He laughed. “Notre Dame has played on national television.”

  I blushed. “Oh, of course they have.”

  “I gather you’re not a fan,” he said.

  I took a sip of my beer before answering. “No, I’m not much of a football fan, but since I’ll be starting law school at Northwestern this fall, clearly I’d root for them given the choice.”

  “We crushed Northwestern forty-eight to zero this year. Twice.” He winked, and I slapped him on the arm.

  “Something tells me you’re not hurting for fans,” I said.

  “I’m not, but it’s kind of nice to talk to someone who doesn’t want to relive game highlights. It’s typically all anyone asks me about. I like that about you. You’re different…or just weird,” he said and leaned away from me to avoid a second slap.

  I laughed. “You’re a shit. And if you’re not careful, I’m going to make you tell me all about your stupid home runs or field goals or whatever it is you do besides flexing your bravado.”

  “You think I’m a thug.”

  I shook my head. “No, I don’t.”

  “You do, I can tell.”

  “Technically, a thug is more of a common criminal or assassin,” I said. “So, again, no. I do not think you’re a thug. In fact, you’re quite the opposite. Here you sit, a dark-haired golden boy, on the lawn of your family’s summer home sipping beer and talking about playing college football at Notre Dame. There’s nothing criminal about it.”

  He studied my face and then grinned.

  I lifted a finger and stopped him before he could speak. “If you say I’m weird again, you will get slapped.”

  “You’re weird,” he said without hesitation.

  We sat for over an hour talking and joking about his parents and siblings. He was much more clever than I’d initially given him credit for, and I was glad to see how much he cared for his brother and sister.

  Tyler told me about his relationship with his grandfather, and how much he admired him. Dr. Reed’s father, Billy McCutcheon Reed, had come to the United States from Ireland when he was twelve years old. He’d been sent alone on a ship to live with distant relatives in Bridgeport, a South Side Chicago neighborhood. From there he worked odd jobs, paid his way through college, and built McCutcheon Meats, one of the largest meatpacking industries in the country.

  “What an amazing man,” I commented.

  “He’s awesome. I play for him, not my dad.”

  Tyler talked about his teammates and, despite my lack of knowledge, entertained me with a few game stories. Last-minute field goal kicks, Hail Mary passes that didn’t pan out, turnovers that won the game. I didn’t give a shit about football, but he was eager to talk to me, so I listened intently and slowly drank him in like a milkshake. I should’ve been embarrassed by how strong my attachment to him was, but I was quite content to bask in his attention for as long as he was willing to give it. The more he opened up, the deeper I fell.

  “This is nice,” he said and busted me gawking at him again. We locked eyes for an incredibly peaceful yet intense moment, and I sensed those emeralds of his had so much more to reveal.

  “How’d you get that scar?” I asked and pointed above his right eyebrow.

  He shrugged. “Who knows.”

  I glanced back at the house. “I really should get to bed. Sammy’s been waking up at an ungodly hour, asking for Cinnamon Toast Crunch.”

  Tyler stood and extended his hand to lift me from my spot on the ground. It was warm to the touch, so I loosely held on to his pinky finger as we walked. He cocked his head and smiled at my grip on him. There was an awkward pause when we both entered the house, before going our separate ways.

  “Good night,” I said.

  Tyler smiled at me. “Night, Chloe.”

  I slept soundly that evening.

  I made dinner for everyone the next night, too. Frozen family-style lasagna for Tyler and myself, and grilled cheese sandwiches for the kids. He thanked me afterward and took off for the night, leaving me with his siblings and longing for more time alone with him. I was cleaning up the kitchen, while Sammy and Sarah were watching a movie, when I started to panic about when he would leave the lake, and whether I would ever see him again. I put the kids to bed that night and was sitting out on the screened-in porch when it started to rain. I loved the rain. My mom and I used to sit by the window in her bedroom when I was little and have raindrop races. We’d each take our index finger and point to a drop at the top of the window, and then follow it down the glass to see whose would make it to the bottom first. She’d drink her martinis and laugh hysterically like a drunken sailor when her droplet would accidentally combine with another, forming a plumper, faster blob that would race past mine. Anytime it rained, I’d run to the window in her bedroom and scream with delight. Rain meant we had to stay inside, tucked under a blanket, watching TV on the couch. And if there was lightning or thunder, then I got to sleep in her bed. Sitting on the Reeds’ porch, alone with my memories and affection for Tyler, inspired me to give my mom a call and check in with her.

  “Hello,” she answered. It was only eight o’clock, but I could tell by her voice that I’d woken her up with my call.

  “Hi, Mom. I’m so sorry, did I wake you?”

  “I just nodded off by the TV. It’s been a really crazy day. When I got to the dry cleaners this morning, I caught the two women who work there talking about me. They abruptly stopped chatting as soon as I walked in, and I could tell they’d been whispering about me.”

  “I’m sure they stop talking to each other anytime a customer walks in, Mom. It’s nothing to worry about.”

  “No, Chloe, this is big. Do you get what I’m saying?”

  I thought for a moment before responding. “Not really, no. I think maybe you’re overreacting. I’m sure they were just talking among themselves and stopped to wait on you. Why would they be talking about you anyway?”

  She didn’t answer me.

  “Mom?”

  “Yes?”

  “Is everything all right? Is that why your day was so crazy, because of the dry cleaners? I don’t think you have anything to worry about. Switch cleaners if they’re bothering you.”

  “I can’t just switch cleaners,” she said like it was an absurd notion.

  “Well, please don’t let it bother you. I hate to think of you getting upset about something like t
hat.”

  “How are you?” she asked.

  “Everything’s good. The Reeds’ son Tyler is here,” I said, subconsciously hoping she’d try to pry some information about him from me so that I could talk about him, but she didn’t bite.

  “That’s nice,” she said. “I really must be going.”

  “You sure you’re okay, Mom?”

  “Yes, but I really need to get off the phone.”

  “Okay, love you,” I said.

  I promised to call in a few days, and we hung up. That was the first time in four years that I’d felt the urge to ask her if she’d been drinking, but I didn’t.

  That night I couldn’t sleep. Sometime after midnight, I got out of bed, walked outside to the back patio, grabbed a blanket and headed down the hill to the edge of the lake. I wrapped myself in the blanket and sat down in the grass. The moon was full and made the perfect night-light, illuminating the houses and piers that circled the water.

  When I looked to my left, I saw him.

  Tyler was standing about twenty yards away, smoking a cigarette. He must’ve felt my eyes on him because he turned around a second later. Once he noticed me, he flicked his cigarette into the lake and walked over.

  “Stand up,” he said.

  I did as he instructed without hesitation. He smelled like beer, cologne, and tobacco. He studied me for a minute before speaking.

  “You’re always staring at me,” he said with a funny grin.

  I didn’t respond since it wasn’t a question, nor was it untrue. So I just stood there and continued to stare at him.

  “Kind of like you are now,” he added.

  I eventually looked away and took a tiny step backward, which he negated by stepping forward. “Maybe you just think everybody’s always staring at you,” I said.

  “Everybody is always staring at me. Especially you,” he said. “I like it.”

  He took another step closer and erased nearly every bit of space between us. My heart started racing.

  “What is it that you want, Chloe?” he asked, gently running a finger from my bare shoulder to my elbow.

  I swallowed hard and began to fumble with the bottom edge of my tank top. He knew what I wanted. I wanted him, and he was fully aware of it. Was he taunting me? Making me look like the fool that I was? Clearly, he sensed my ridiculous infatuation with him and intended to act on it.