Feeling It

by Scarlet Wilder

  She needed to stay despite me, whether I was in the picture or not.

  “Caitlyn, stop this,” I said, grabbing her by the shoulders. “You’re making more of this than it is.” I looked down into her beautiful teared-filled brown eyes, which still had a look of innocence to them, and I wanted to draw her close to me, but instead, I just dropped my arms to my sides.

  She stood there as if rooted to the spot. A light breeze lifted the hair from her face and a tear dripped onto her cheek, slowly trickling down to the corner of her quivering mouth.

  “I love you,” she said. “There, I said it. I love you, I have always loved you and now, standing here, I even love you more. I always thought it was a dumb crush but it wasn’t, and even if you don’t love me back, then you’ve done a pretty good job of pretending. Because I can tell you feel something for me, too. I know it. Don’t walk away from us, Logan. Give us a chance. I’ll stay if you just say the word.”

  And there it was again.

  “There is no us, Caitlyn,” I said coldly. “Look, you really thought that I was going to fall for my sister’s best friend? You’re wrong. I’m everything Cheyenne told you I am. Yes, I thought for a short time that I’m not, but she was right. I am that guy and being with you is just one of the ways I deal with stuff. Don’t change your life because I tell you to do so. You’ll just resent me in the end.”

  And, with that, I swung my leg over the bike and drove away. I looked at her in my rearview mirror, still standing there on the pavement, her arms wrapped tightly around her body as her shoulders shook while tears ran down her beautiful face.

  Every fiber of my being was desperate to stay, but I knew it was no time to be selfish. I was doing the right thing. I only hoped that she’d come to realize that and be able to forgive me one day.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CAITLYN

  †

  I DON’T BELIEVE I cried as much when my own mom died as the day Logan left. That sounds terrible, I know, but thinking rationally, my mom had been sick and had prepared us for her passing. I was only eight years old and had never really known what grief was.

  But now, it was completely different. He left me without warning.

  In that moment of loss, my world shattered. Light became shadow, joy became sorrow and love became anger. I shouted his name into the wind as if that would somehow make him return to me, but he was gone, and he didn’t want me to stay.

  When my dad came home and found me on the floor of the kitchen, he helped me up and we sat down on the couch where he held me as if I was a little child again. He stroked my hair while I told him what happened, patiently listening to everything I said. He strained to hear what I was saying through garbled sobs and nodded in all the right places.

  Strangely, though, he didn’t swear or jump up and insist on going over to see Logan and demand an explanation as to why he’d broken his little girl’s heart. It was as though Dad didn’t believe Logan. He seemed incredulous when I related how Logan had told me that it was only a fling and that I was mistaken in thinking that there was more to what we’d shared. That he’d just used me as a way to keep himself from dealing with his own shit.

  “That doesn’t sound like him,” Dad said. “I mean, I don’t know the guy all that well, but from what I do know, he’s not hurtful. He’s the one who’s hurting, and if he upsets other people, it’s not deliberate. He dropped everything to help save my life that night Mike came knocking. He worked on Charlie Edward’s house for nothing after the old man’s stroke and that’s only to mention a few of the things he’s been doing for folks around town. I know his sister’s death broke him, but I can’t see him being the type to use anyone to deal with it, especially not you.”

  “Well, he has,” I hiccoughed. “He’s broken my heart, and I don’t know why, Dad. Why, after everything we’ve shared, after I told him I loved him, would he just leave like that?”

  “Well, honey. I think he’s just pushing you away because he doesn’t want to lose you when you do go back home,” Dad said. “If anything, I think he wants you to stay.”

  “No, Dad. You’re wrong. He doesn’t want me to stay at all. I told him that I would if he just said the word, but he didn’t say anything. In fact, he couldn’t get away quick enough, running away like a damn rat from a sinking ship!”

  Dad smiled and squeezed my hand. “Well, for what it’s worth, I want you to stay. Although, I also agree with the boy,” Dad said. I was shocked that he would say that and I straightened up to stare at him in disbelief.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that you cannot stay here because of me or Logan or anyone else. You deserve the best, sweetheart, and I don’t know that you are really convinced that the best thing for you to do is to stay in Vergennes, even though there are people here that you love. If you were convinced of that, you wouldn’t need anyone asking you to stay.”

  My dad’s words made me pause. Was there any truth in what he just said? I thought back to the call I had earlier. Maybe there were still some things I needed to sort out before I walked away from my lifelong dreams.

  But, I also knew that I would give it up in a heartbeat if it meant I could be with Logan. If I just knew he wanted me to stay. It was clear that he didn’t, though. I told him I loved him and he still rejected me. He didn’t even want to give us a chance and I was mad.

  Mad at him for being everything Cheyenne said he was.

  †

  I left the following day. Packing went quickly as I didn’t bring that much with me. I didn’t want to take any of my old stuff I found in the closet with me, either, even though I’d mentally placed them in my apartment already; filling my wardrobes with the clothes that fit me five years ago and propping my battered old teddy bear that I used to sleep with when I thought there was nobody else in the world who cared about me, up against the pillows on my bed.

  Now, I didn’t want any of it. I didn’t want a single thing reminding me of Vergennes, of Logan. It seemed that no matter how much I loved being home, it was continually cruel to me and it always made me feel as though I didn’t belong.

  I’d never felt as though I belonged in Montpelier, either. But, a new opportunity awaited me in Burlington and, who knew. It might just be the place where I was meant to be all along.

  The offer couldn’t have come at a better time.

  †

  Back at the apartment, I saw that I’d left the bathroom window open just a little, and it turned out that Montpelier had had torrential rain. So, I came home to stagnant water sitting on the floor of my bathroom, causing a damp, moldy smell. It was a brutal ‘welcome home’ and I mopped up the water with towels before cleaning the floor with bleach. At least it kept my mind busy for a while.

  Once everything was cleaned and the soggy towels had been put in the washer, I was left with only silence. Whoever said silence was golden, didn’t know what the fuck they were talking about. It’s grey and cold and cruel.

  I sat on the couch and rested my face in the palms of my hands. Tears burst forth and spilled down my cheeks, and I grabbed a pillow, hugging it against my body as if that could soothe me. A deep feeling of exhaustion overwhelmed me; yet I knew that if I went to bed, I wouldn’t be able to sleep.

  At times like these, when sadness felt so overwhelming, there was only one person I’d call, but she was furious with me and hadn’t given me any indication that she ever wanted to talk to me again. Over the years, we had silly rows like those all best friends have, but nothing had ever felt as serious, or as permanent, as this. Cheyenne’s eyes had blazed with a fury I’d never seen before and there was such a finality to her voice.

  I had friends in Montpelier, of course, colleagues and others who I’d come to know over my time here, but none of them would have understood what I was going through. None of them could know how it felt to feel simultaneously at home and yet, such a complete stranger.

  The only thing I had to look forward to was the thought of my int
erview on Thursday. It had been no small shock to receive a call from the manager of a brand new, artisan bakery in Burlington, simply called The Bakery. I’d heard of them a couple of months ago and there were rumors that they had employed a Michelin-starred executive pastry chef who was turning out all manner of weird and wonderful creations.

  So, I’d found myself searching the web for The Bakery’s website later that evening, and I was amazed at their innovative ideas. At a time when I was sure nothing more could be done with a simple cake, it appeared I was wrong. I felt a slight spark, a touch of excitement amidst the heartbreak.

  I recalled the conversation I had with Carl, the manager of The Bakery, a few short days ago and what he’d said about sampling my “melt-in-the-mouth wonders” at the festival.

  And yet, so cruelly, I’d had barely ten seconds to revel in the excitement before the crushing conversation with Logan. Just thinking of him now made me feel sick to my stomach and I was sure I’d throw up. But it wasn’t out of disgust, or even anger.

  I ached for him. I longed to hear his voice and wished that he would call me, or maybe even turn up and knock at the door telling me that he made a mistake; that he wanted things to work out between us and wanted to talk about it.

  But, the knock never came, and the phone never rang.

  Turning on the television, I stared at the screen for the next two hours but I couldn’t for the life of me recall what was on that night. Nothing registered. Every man who appeared on screen, was Logan; that was about all I could remember and, finally, when my eyelids became too heavy and I fell asleep on the couch, the figures in my dreams were all Logan, too.

  However, the dream became a nightmare. I stood behind a sheet of glass with Logan standing on the other side. He couldn’t hear me even though I screamed and pounded on the glass until my hands started to bleed. He was totally oblivious to me.

  They say you never get over your first love. If that was true, then I was doomed to be a lifelong prisoner of those terrible words. I eventually crawled into my bed and groaned aloud. I saw that I’d stripped it the day I left, leaving the sheets in the laundry basket. But, I didn’t have the strength to get up, so I just lay on top of the bare mattress and pulled the blanket up to my chin.

  I don’t know how I managed to fall asleep. All I knew was that I wasn’t sure I’d ever want to wake up again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  LOGAN

  †

  THE DOORS TO THE shed were wide open as I busied myself with applying a final coat of varnish to a large rocking chair I’d made. The walnut spindles twisted around and around, making it difficult to apply an even coat. I leaned in so close that I don’t know why I bothered opening the doors at all; I was inhaling so much of the stuff, anyway.

  I was so engrossed that I didn’t hear Bill walk up to the shed. It was only when he slapped an open palm against the door that I looked up.

  “Hey,” I said. Then I felt a sudden panic grip my chest as the thought crossed my mind that he might be there to deliver some bad news about Caitlyn. I stood up and the brush clattered to the floor.

  He must have seen my alarmed expression and grinned. “Sorry to bother you,” he said. “Nothing to worry about. I was just taking a walk and I thought I’d stop by.”

  Just taking a walk.

  My shock turned to disbelief. It was not like Bill Reid to ‘just take a walk’ anywhere. It was clear that he’d come here on purpose and he looked like he wanted to talk.

  I walked over to the fridge as I peeled off my latex gloves and threw them into the trash. Bill looked around the shed and gave a low whistle.

  “Wow, you’ve been busy. Last time I was here there were only a couple of pieces,” he said.

  “Yeah. I’ve been building up stock as I was thinking about maybe selling these. You know, make a name for myself as a specialist carpenter. You want a beer?”

  “I’ve been off the liquor lately but I guess a cold-one can’t hurt. Not at my age. These are some seriously beautiful pieces, Son. I can’t believe they’re just sitting here. Good that you have a plan of selling them cause it’ll be a damn shame if you don’t.”

  I handed him a beer and he took his keys from his pocket and popped off the cap. We both took a long drink and he nodded toward the tarpaulin-covered shape at the rear of the shed. “What’s that?” he asked.

  “A personal project,” I answered. “It’s almost finished. I’m just not ready to show anyone, yet.”

  We walked over to an old battered couch I often slept on when I didn’t have the energy or the sobriety, to go back to my apartment. Bill sank into it with a groan and took a long swig of his beer. Neither of us spoke for a few seconds until Bill broke the silence.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me how she is?”

  I sighed. “It’s none of my business,” I said. “I hope she’s all right and doing well.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Something wrong with your ears?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “I said bullshit. You don’t need to pretend with me. I’ve seen everything there is to see in my time. I’ve seen a man sit in front of me and deny a crime until he was blue in the face even when I showed him clear evidence to the contrary. I’ve seen guys refusing to say a word, yet I could read the whole story just by looking at the expression in their eyes. You’re no exception, Son.”

  “Well, there goes my aim to being mysterious,” I said, draining the last of my beer before getting up. “Do you want another?”

  “No, no, I’m good,” Bill said. “It’s been so long that this one’s going right to my head. I guess I’d better talk fast before I lose my train of thought.”

  When I rejoined him on the couch, he looked at me and grinned. “We’re cursed from the moment we’re born as boys, you know.”

  “How’d you figure that?”

  “Because when we find a woman we love, it turns us inside out and upside down and we don’t have a clue what to do with ourselves. Basically, we’re fucked. We think we’re going to conquer the world and then they come along and all it takes is a smile or a touch, and we’re not men. We’re as pathetic and useless as a eunuch in a whorehouse.”

  What could I say to that?

  I looked at him and then looked away, as his gray eyes seemed to burn a hole in my soul.

  “You never get over it,” he said. “The second I saw Deborah, I knew nothing was ever going to be the same. I knew it right off the bat. And, after she was gone, I did the exact same thing you’ve been doing. I shut down, and I hurt my daughter more than I even knew. I was selfish.”

  “I’m trying to be un-selfish,” I said.

  “I know what you’re trying to do and what you were trying to make her see,” Bill replied. “And I tried to tell her that, too. Hell, I agree with you. She needs to make the decision to stay cause it’ll be the best thing for her and no-one else. I get it. She just didn’t understand it at the time and she still doesn’t. But where you’re not making such a good job of it, is having her believe all this time that she doesn’t mean anything to you. How did you put it? You were just having fun?”

  It wasn’t the nicest thing to hear, especially coming from Bill. Caitlyn was his daughter after all, and I felt like shit for him knowing that I’d said it to her.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it,” I said.

  “Oh, I know. If you did, do you think I’d be sitting here drinking a beer with you?” he said and I didn’t need to answer as I knew that he would have had my balls in a vice if he’d thought that there was any truth to it.

  Bill sighed and took another sip from the bottle before he spoke. “Look, I might not be too crazy about the idea of my little girl growing up and falling in love, and it’s damn clear to me that’s what’s happened. The thing that brought me out here is to tell you that she needs to hear that she’s not the only one in love. She needs the truth from you and not some cock-n-bull story. She deserves better.”

&
nbsp; The weight of the lonely weeks without Caitlyn was suddenly so heavy I literally felt my shoulders slump forward. “Is it that obvious?” I asked and from the knowing look he gave me, I didn’t really need an answer. I sighed and raked my fingers through my hair. “It’s just so complicated,” I said.

  “It doesn’t have to be,” Bill said, as he pushed against his thighs and stood up before stretching out his back.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “She’d kill me if I said anything, but that’s a fight for another day. All I know is that she’s not happy and she’s too damn stubborn to admit it. She thinks she’s following her dreams working for that damn Frenchman and, in the beginning, so did I. But, all she’s doing now is not facing the truth and running away from it. Dreams change and hers has and she’s not admitting it to herself, and I’ll be damned if I stand by and just have her carry on this way. I’ve done that for most of her life and I’ll not be doing it again.”

  Bill’s words came as a shock, I won’t lie. But, it also brought with it a sliver of hope.

  “So what are you saying, Bill?” I asked.

  “First, you need to tell me that you know what you want and not be some milksop who’s too afraid to go after it,” Bill said. “And then, you need to man-up and talk about shit, Son. No matter how difficult that might be. Because keeping all your feelings inside, whether it’s about Caitlyn or your sister, is what’s brought you here in the first place.”

  I didn’t need to ask which sister he meant. “Believe it or not, Bill, I’ve come some way in dealing with things in my own time, in my own way. But, you’re right. Actually, you and Cheyenne both,” I said. “She’s always trying to get me to open up and talk about what’s on my mind. Drives me crazy.”

  “And Caitlyn? Was she the same?”