After the Ending

by Lindsey Fairleigh

  Crossing the threshold into forbidden territory felt like pushing through a force field. Tom Cartwright hadn’t redecorated his kids’ bedrooms into impersonal guest rooms like empty-nesters tended to do. He’d kept the spaces exactly as they had been, waiting to welcome Zoe and Jason home at any time. In Zoe’s case, the drawers and closet had been emptied long ago, leaving behind the shell of the girl who had lived there. With Jason, however, it appeared as though he’d still been occupying the bedroom for the past twelve years.

  The walls were nearly bare, with only a few pieces of sports memorabilia pinned to their steel-blue surfaces. A faded, masculine scent clung to the air, making me think of the many nights Jason had spent in the room while I’d been hunkered down with Zoe across the hall. I wondered if he’d been alone…or if my middle school mind hadn’t realized he was sneaking girlfriend after girlfriend into his room…into his bed. Or maybe he’d just climbed down the tree outside of his window and met up with them elsewhere. His epic reputation by the time I’d entered high school—the year after Jason had graduated—suggested at least one, if not both, was true.

  On the wall opposite Jason’s bed, a long shelf displayed several dozen wooden figurines and a few endearing framed photos of his dad and sister. While Jason knelt on the floor, digging through a trunk in his closet, I picked up a miniature carved cat, curled in sleep. It was exquisite.

  “Did your dad make these?”

  “Huh?” Looking over his shoulder, Jason saw what I was holding and frowned. “Ah…some.” His head disappeared into the closet again as he clarified, “I actually made most of ‘em.”

  I lost myself in examining the little pieces of art. The cat looked so realistic, like it might uncurl its tiny body and arch its back right there on my palm. I was starting to understand what Tom meant about listening to the wood.

  “That’s the last one I ever made,” Jason said quietly.

  I jumped, my fingers reflexively closing around the carved cat. I’d been so entranced by the intricate feline figuring in my hand that I hadn’t noticed Jason approach. He was right behind me.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I thought you heard me.” He reached over my shoulder and plucked a simple, slightly disproportionate fish off of the shelf. It was about the size of his thumb. “This was my first.”

  “They’re beautiful. I didn’t know your dad taught you to carve,” I told him, opening my hand to reveal the sleeping cat.

  Jason laughed bitterly and gave a small shake of his head. “He wanted me to follow in his footsteps—take over the family business.”

  The carvings seemed to unsettle him so much that I felt guilty when I asked, “Can I…I mean, would you mind if I…you know…kept this?” I raised my hand a few inches, showing him the tiny feline.

  Without hesitation, he said, “Keep it. Keep any of ‘em.”

  Jason returned to the closet as I examined each carving carefully, wishing I could take them all. I settled on the sleeping cat, the lopsided fish, and a remarkably detailed seagull in flight.

  Jason finally emerged from his closet with a few items—a rolled-up canvas kit of some kind, an incredibly worn leather journal, and an equally worn, earth-brown leather jacket—and stuffed them into his backpack, along with the pictures from the shelf and a carved bear standing on its hind legs. That one, he said, had been carved by his dad. He also gave me a few old t-shirts to wrap my priceless treasures in—I was worried they would get damaged.

  Before we left, we scavenged some peanut butter, crackers, fruit snacks, and an unopened bottle of apple juice from Tom’s pantry for lunch. We settled at the kitchen table with our non-perishable feast and ate in companionable silence.

  When I rose and carried our empty plates to the sink, Jason asked, “What’re you doing?”

  “The dishes?”

  “Why?”

  “Because…huh.” I dropped the dirty plates into the sink. “I don’t know. It just felt right. Being here makes it seem like things are…normal.”

  Standing, Jason finished off the apple juice, drinking it straight out of the bottle, and said, “I know what you mean. I keep expecting my dad to walk in and lecture me about responsibility and ‘carrying the family torch’.” He raised his backpack onto the chair and unzipped it. “It feels normal…except for one thing.”

  “What’s that?” I cocked my head and leaned my lower back against the counter.

  “We’re here together—just us.” He looked at me, his electric blue eyes seeming to really see me for the first time. “The world’s not normal. Everything’s different…we’re different.”

  I nodded, shifting uncomfortably under the weight of his stare.

  “Aren’t you gonna open it?” I asked, motioning to the intricately carved box he’d just placed on the table. About the size of a cigar box, it was fashioned from cedar and had delicate iron hinges. It had, without a doubt, been crafted by the talented hands of Tom Cartwright.

  Jason’s eyes shifted to the box, mercifully releasing their relentless hold on me. “Not yet…Zoe’d kill me.”

  “Oh.” Right…’cause she’s obsessed with it and all…

  “We’re done here,” he said. He was watching my face closely. “Let’s head out.”

  I nodded, not trusting my voice to hold steady if I spoke. My chin tried to quiver, but I stilled it by clenching my teeth.

  Jason quickly wrapped the box in a terrycloth dish towel and loaded it into his pack. Dozens of words were perched on the tip of my tongue, anxiously waiting for my mouth to open so they could fly to Jason’s ears. But I clutched onto them desperately, instead settling for comfortable silence. As we rode to Grams’s house, I basked in the silence, but once we walked through the front door, it turned expectant and tense. It was almost palpable, growing and pulsing in the air around us.

  Ignoring the tension, we started searching for keepsakes in Grams’s bedroom. Jason sat on the end of her bed, watching me as I wandered around her room. I’d always thought of her possessions as flowery and old-fashioned, nothing I would ever want for myself, but they suddenly held incalculable value to me.

  Searching through her vintage, buttercup-yellow jewelry box, I was suddenly struck by the realization that I was looking through her favorite necklaces, rings, and earrings—things she would never wear again. I was surprised to find the long, silver chain with its heavy silver pendant—a medallion the size of a silver dollar imprinted with the hands, heart, and crown of a claddagh ring—that Grams only took off to bathe. It had been a gift from her husband on their wedding night. Did she leave it for me? With trembling fingers, I picked up the necklace and reverently slipped it over my head, tucking the pendant beneath my shirt. The chain was so long that the cool metal settled low between my breasts.

  Before leaving the room, I sprayed a little of Grams’s lavender perfume. With horror and wonder, the delicate scent made me feel like she would come striding through the doorway at any moment. Jason sat quietly and watched, letting the silent tension continue to build.

  Finally, I led the way upstairs to my childhood bedroom. The closer we came, the more nervous I felt, like I was doing something forbidden. Grams had maintained a strict policy against boys in bedrooms—specifically my bedroom. On top of that, Jason had never even been in my house, let alone in my bedroom.

  Sudden self-consciousness overwhelmed me as Jason entered the room behind me. Juxtaposed with his undeniable masculinity, the space seemed so much girlier than usual, so innocent when compared to his intense sexuality. I often felt the same way about myself in his presence. Having him in my room—studying my white, vine-embroidered comforter, antique vanity, and menagerie of stuffed animals—felt like letting him open me up to peek inside. I felt exposed. Naked.

  With an odd mixture of discomfort and curiosity, Jason stood in the middle of the room. Unlike in Grams’s bedroom, he seemed to have a hard time figuring out where to sit. He approached the bed, hesitated, and turned to the vanity chair. He shook his head be
fore making a decision, displacing a large stuffed dog on the window seat. The dog, Ralph, remained in his grasp, resting on his lap. I couldn’t decide if seeing Jason in my room made him look larger, or the room look smaller.

  Again, he watched me but said nothing, letting me look through my belongings for any desirable keepsakes. It was impossible to ignore his increasingly pensive presence, but I made a show of pretending.

  As I perched on the edge of the mattress, searching the drawers of the nightstand only a few feet from Jason, I found the purple diary I’d written in throughout high school. There wasn’t a secret written on its pages that Zoe didn’t know. But if she’d kept a diary, how much of its cherished contents would end up being news to me? Hot tears slowly snaked down my face, and the silence reached a critical point.

  “Dani?” Jason’s voice was a soft rumble.

  “Hmmm?” I shut the drawer, leaving the diary inside, and turned all of my attention on him. I smiled faintly at the sight of him, such a strong, dangerous man, holding a stuffed animal.

  “What’s wrong?”

  If I said “Nothing,” he’d let it go. Or he’d wait until the next time I drowned in silent tears to ask again. But I didn’t want him to let it go. I wanted Jason to know me, insecurities and all. “It’s Zoe,” I told him.

  When I didn’t elaborate, he said, “And the box?”

  I sighed, still arranging my thoughts into a comprehensible pattern. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.” I paused, then the words spilled out without thought. “She didn’t tell me about it. She’s been obsessed with it forever, and she never told me about it. If it’s so important to her, how could she not tell me? We’re…I thought we were closer than that. I thought we told each other everything. Now I just don’t know.”

  Spurred on by my admission, the steady stream of quiet tears flowed more quickly. I wiped them away with both hands.

  “Does it change anything?”

  I considered his question carefully, thinking about Zoe and everything we’d been through together over the years. “No.” My voice was wobbly, but my answer was true. Zoe was my best friend, and I loved her…even with the stupid secret box.

  Jason lifted a single shoulder, not taking his eyes off me. Abruptly, something changed in his face, making the contours more evident. As he studied me, he seemed intensely intimidating. “Why were you avoiding me?”

  “What?”

  “This morning—why were you running from me?”

  “Um…well…I don’t think I was actually running…it was more of a quick walk. Possibly a slow jog.”

  Jason’s bland expression said, “And…?”

  Sighing, I prepared to spill my guts. “I didn’t want to hear what I thought you were going to say.”

  Jason was practically turning to stone before my eyes. Completely monotone, he asked, “And that would be…?”

  I giggled unexpectedly, feeling my pulse increase and my hands tremble. The last thing I wanted to say spewed from my mouth before I could stop it. “Did you care about Cece? I mean…when I saw you guys…you know…um…” Oh my God, stop talking! Wide-eyed, I slapped both hands over my mouth.

  Until I’d blurted the question, I hadn’t realized how much his relationship with that psycho bitch had been bothering me. I’d spent a good portion of my life mooning over Jason, so I was pretty practiced at being jealous of any chick he was involved with. It was a familiar, expected feeling. But with Cece it was far more intense…like, at a murderous level.

  The question shattered his stony façade, and I watched the shadows of a handful of emotions flash across his face: shock – confusion – embarrassment – fury – worry – confusion – surprise – hope – curiosity.

  Only the massive amount of time we’d spent together over the past month—where I had the opportunity to analyze his every nuance—allowed me to interpret each minute change in his expression.

  He shook his head and looked down to study Ralph, the stuffed dog he still held. “She was just someone to help pass the time…to fulfill certain needs.”

  To top off my mortification and flaming blush, my mouth opened of its own accord again. “And Holly…is she helping you…um…fulfill certain needs?” I covered my entire face with my hands, peeking between my fingers like I was watching a horror movie.

  A hint of a dimple appeared on Jason’s left cheek as the corner of his mouth turned up slightly. “No. Why do you ask?”

  “No reason,” I squeaked. With my usual lack of grace, I scrambled over the bed, away from Jason. I stood in front of the dresser set against the opposite wall and opened the top drawer—what Zoe called my “junk drawer”—to busy myself by searching its contents.

  “Dani?” Jason’s voice was hushed, but it still made me jump in surprise. I’d been so focused on my fake rummaging that I hadn’t noticed him coming up behind me. Again. “You never answered my question—Why did you keep running away from me?”

  I ceased my pointless searching and grasped the top edge of the open drawer. Defeated, I said, “I overheard your conversation with Chris last night—the one about ‘clearing things up.’ I thought you were talking about me and…” I paused, closing my eyes and taking a deep, unsteady breath. “I didn’t want you to…so I avoided you.”

  Jason placed his hands either side of mine, trapping me between him and the drawer. “Dani,” he said, his voice deep and rough. His breath caressed the back of my neck. “Turn around.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head.

  “Turn. Around.” Though his words were demanding, his voice held the barest hint of a plea.

  After a few seconds of indecision, I removed my hands from their death grip on the drawer and lowered them to my sides. I slowly pivoted until my back pressed against the open drawer, and then I opened my eyes again. Standing so close to me, Jason seemed even taller than usual. I forced myself to look up, up, up, and to meet his sapphire eyes. Back and forth, his eyes scoured mine.

  “Do you really want to do this?” he whispered.

  Swallowing consciously, I nodded. More than anything.

  “Are you sure?”

  I nodded again, my eyes fixed on his. My heart was beating with such force that I was certain he could hear it.

  Only when my backside pressed against the dresser did I realize Jason had slid the drawer shut, forcing me backward. Parts of his jacket and jeans brushed against mine, tickling the hyperaware skin beneath. I suddenly felt overheated, like I might melt into a puddle right there on my bedroom floor.

  Jason leaned in with deliberate slowness, bringing his burning eyes and slightly parted lips closer to mine. Even though we’d kissed only once, I craved the feel of his lips, the brush of his tongue. His eyes flicked from my mouth to my eyes and back repeatedly. Giving me time. Letting me decide. Making sure I wanted him.

  I did.

  My heart pounded, and my breaths came quickly, like the air was too thin. I can’t believe I’m about to do this… Leaning forward, I tilted my face up and brushed my lips softly against Jason’s, granting him permission. The barely-there contact still sent a thrilling jolt through my body, charging the length of my nerves and circling back to collide low in my abdomen. The sensation intensified, causing a delicious ache between my thighs.

  Jason’s eyes darkened to a deep midnight, and he breathed deeply. His hand slid underneath my braid, grasping my neck to pull me closer as his other settled in the curve of my back and held me flush against him. The tip of his tongue slipped out and slowly wet his lips. I watched the movement, entranced.

  When his lips finally touched mine, I was lost, completely and utterly. My hands slid up over his coat and twined behind his neck, holding him against me. I opened my mouth to him, and our tongues collided. A low purr escaped from my throat, and he answered it with a guttural growl. We kissed as though we were starving—the only thing that could satiate our hunger was more of each other.

  I let go of his neck for a single purpose—to unzip a
nd remove his coat, then his holster. They landed on the floor with a soft thump, and seconds later, my own coat and holster joined his. Not once did we break our kiss.

  His hands moved over my long-sleeved shirt, seeming to light my nerves on fire. They slid down my back and over my hips, eventually teasing the skin above my belt before slipping lower over my jeans. Abruptly, he gripped the backs of my thighs and lifted me up, forcing me to wrap my legs around his hips. I did so eagerly.

  He carried me to the empty wall beside the dresser, pressing me against it with a grunt. I squeezed my legs and arms around him more tightly, freeing his hands to roam over my body. They seemed to be everywhere—my hips, breasts, neck—almost like he’d transformed into the Hindu god, Vishnu. I moaned at each new sensation, shocking myself with my brazen reactions. I was eager for what I hoped would happen next.

  Jason had just shifted me from the wall to the bed and was kneeling between my legs, removing my shirt, when Jack’s panicked warning invaded my mind. “Two-legs. Many. Smell wrong. Close. Hurry!”

  “Jason! Stop!” I breathed, clutching his wrists before he could yank my shirt over my head. When he let go, it sat uselessly around my neck like a scarf.

  Chest heaving, Jason looked down at me in disbelief. I could see the question form in his eyes—had I changed my mind?

  To reassure him, I traded his wrists for his face and pulled him closer for a deep, though brief, kiss. “I’m sorry…we have to leave…now,” I said against his cheek. “Jack said people are coming. Crazies.”

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” Jason exclaimed incredulously, standing and taking a step back. I instantly missed the feel of him. He raked his eyes over the slender curves of my shirtless body one last time. “Fuck!” he repeated before resituating his clothes and quickly grabbing his holster and coat.

  I hastily pulled my shirt back on and rearmed myself as well. Zipping our coats and grabbing our packs, we sped down the stairs and through the kitchen. According to Jack, the Crazies were approaching the front door, but he and the horses were still behind the house. We rushed out the back door, practically leaping into our saddles, and sped off through the sparse woods beyond the garden. As we rode, I used Jack and a handful of volunteer animals to scout both ahead and behind us. The Crazies weren’t following us—they were still searching in and around the house.