Past Presence

by Nicole Bross

  10

  Some hours later, we are indeed exhausted. Kellen tugs the sheet up to cover my shoulders and wraps his arms around me when I shiver from the slight breeze coming in from the balcony. He kisses my damp temple and rests his chin on the top of my head, and I’m filled with a deep sense of peace and contentment. For the time being, none of my problems matter, and the past hasn’t intruded once since our mouths first came together. There is only the present, a rare moment for me, and one I don’t want to give up. Sleep creeps up on me, and I stretch my legs out, twining them in between Kellen’s. Then, remembering, I groan and start to sit up.

  “What are you doing,” he mumbles, tugging my arm.

  “I left all my papers and laptop down in the pub,” I say. “I have to go get them.”

  “Leave them, you can grab them in the morning. The pub doesn’t open until noon. I’ve already set an alarm.”

  “I can’t. They’re too important.” I’m pretty sure my dress is somewhere under the bed’s folding frame and will be awkward to retrieve, but I still haven’t even made it off the mattress yet because Kellen’s still hanging onto me.

  “I’ll get them then.” He heaves himself up, grabs his jeans from the floor and pulls them up over his slender hips. When I begin to protest, he leans over the bed and kisses me. “I don’t want you using the excuse that you’re dressed anyway to leave,” he says. I frown. It’s pretty much standard operating procedure for me to not spend the night, but up until I’d remembered the mess I’d left scattered across the table downstairs, I’d planned on staying exactly where I was, curled up into his side, at least for a while. “Don’t move, I’ll be right back,” he says and gives me a peck on the nose. “Please,” he adds when he sees my displeasure. “I’m at my best first thing in the morning, you know.” Now that is definitely something to look forward to, but my discomfort at his insistence that I stay lingers. I’d been right that we’d have amazing sex, but that doesn’t mean our relationship was anything more than physical. If he’d gotten any sort of impression otherwise, I’d have to set him straight right away.

  Before I can decide definitively if I should get dressed anyway and tell him I’d prefer to sleep at Cora’s, Kellen is back. He dumps my stuff onto the table, shucks his jeans, and slides back into bed, resuming his original position, but this time I can’t relax my body into his. I barely register whatever moment from his past he gave me, it being only a few seconds long and inconsequential compared to the words I’m trying to put together.

  “Look, I wasn’t—” I still haven’t figured out exactly what I want to say.

  “I know,” he says. “It’s fine, Audrey. I overstepped, I’m sorry.” He lays, still and silent behind me, waiting for me to speak or move. From the tension in his own body, I’m sure he expects me to get up and leave. Finally, not sure whether it’s because I enjoy proving him wrong so much, or because I genuinely want to, I roll over to face him, rest my head on his bicep, and close my eyes.

  ***

  Kellen is unable to prove his claims of morning prowess because when his alarm goes off and I see the time, I almost shriek. Sunrise was more than half an hour ago, and I had wanted to be gone before dawn.

  “We have to get out of here!” I hiss, trying to both deflect his roaming hands and shove him out of bed. I’m not having any success at either. Cora will already be at the desk downstairs, and the thought that she could walk through the door and discover us at any moment, should she choose to wish me a good morning, has me in a panic.

  Kellen is less worried. “We’re grown-ups, Audrey,” he tells me, rolling his eyes and grinning. “It’s nobody’s business that we’re together up here.”

  “Everything seems to be everyone’s business in this town,” I mutter. My dress, I see, is in a heap beside the couch’s armrest, and I slip it over my head impatiently. Kellen is still lolling in bed, watching me dress. My underwear is nowhere in sight. I’m sure Kellen knows where it is, since he was the one who divested me of it last night, but when I ask him, he shrugs.

  “Come back to bed and climb on top. I’ll be real quiet, I promise. Not sure you will, though,” he adds after a moment’s reflection and a smirk. His hands are laced behind his head, and the thin sheet does nothing to conceal the fact that he’s ready for me. God, do I ever want to, but I wave him off with a frustrated groan.

  “Get up and put the bed away,” I tell him. I’ve decided since I have to make my walk of shame to Cora’s in broad daylight anyway, I might as well do it commando.

  My underwear proves to be under the bed, revealed when Kellen pushes the frame back into the couch. I shimmy into it and shove my feet into my wedges. Cora will know I hadn’t returned to her house to sleep, so there’s no sense in pretending. Once Kellen is safely out, I can pop downstairs and casually say good morning. I want to ask her about the line items on the credit card statements I can’t categorize anyway. They can be my excuse for why I was up so late. I hope she doesn’t notice my freshly-fucked glow.

  “Do you hear that?” Kellen says, pausing with a couch cushion in his hands, his head turned toward the balcony. “Sirens. Sounds like they’re out on the highway. Must’ve been an accident.” Route 101 runs all along the coast in Oregon and Soberly is just an off-ramp away from it. Unfortunately, the balcony in the office faces away from the highway, and there’s no way of knowing for sure from here.

  “Hope everyone’s okay,” I reply. I feel awkward and unsure of myself now that we’re both dressed and about to part ways. My usual “I had a really great time” line is supposed to convey a finality I’m not sure I want. Then again, if Kellen and I keep sleeping together, there’s bound to be more heartache for both of us when I leave Soberly than if this ends now as a one-night stand. I can’t decide which is worse.

  Failing to stifle a huge yawn, I rummage around in my tote for a hairbrush I know isn’t in there as an excuse to avoid meeting his eye. His arm slides around my waist from behind, pulling me into a loose embrace.

  “Tired?” There’s amusement in his tone.

  “Didn’t get much sleep,” I say, keeping my voice light. “I had a late night.”

  “Sorry not sorry,” he mimics my words from before. “Now, who leaves first?”

  “You. Go out the back door or something. Cora will know I spent the night here.”

  “My mama will know I didn’t come home either. I’m sure she’s already figured it all out.”

  “Well tell your mama to keep quiet about this, then. People stare at me enough as it is here. I feel like I’m all anyone is talking about. You don’t know what it’s like, being the outsider.”

  “The only black guy in town doesn’t know about being an outsider? Other than my brother and dad, I guess, but now Marcus is in college, they’re hardly ever here.” He rolls his eyes but waves off my wince at my insensitivity with a grin. “Everyone here wants to know how you’re going to fit in, what sort of person you are.”

  “I don’t fit in at all.” I frown. Although I do feel like I’m under a microscope in Soberly, apart from Cora, everyone’s been perfectly friendly and welcoming toward me. If I was being perfectly fair, my insistence that I was being treated like an outsider was off base.

  “You could, you know. You could fit in just fine. See you tonight.” I open my mouth to protest his presumptuousness, and he grins. “For supper. Although feel free to cash in that morning lovin’ IOU anytime. Doesn’t have to be morning, either.” He winks and slips out the door, closing it soundlessly behind him.

  Cora’s eyes are raised well above the rims of her glasses when I step through the door behind the front desk a few minutes later and wish her a good morning.

  “Rough night?” Given I don’t have a comb or toothbrush with me, I can see why she asks. I make matters worse by immediately blushing scarlet. Impossibly, her brows lift even higher.

  “I can’t figure out this darn statement,” I say. To my ears, it sounds both lame and insincere. I show her the pape
rs I’m clutching, and the lines I’ve flagged. After a moment’s perusal, she shrugs.

  “Just put them under ‘miscellaneous,’” she suggests. “I don’t have a clue.”

  “There are seven or eight of them on each statement,” I tell her. “On their own, they don’t look like much, but added up it’s a fairly significant sum, and I can’t even figure out what the charge is for. If you don’t know what they are, you should dispute them with the card company. At least they’ll be able to tell you the originating company so you’ll know if they’re legit or not.”

  “Audrey, I’m sure it’s a perfectly normal expense. This was Roz’s personal business card. If there were fraudulent charges, I’m sure she would have noticed long ago.” She’s impatient and keeps glancing toward the door. It feels dismissive until I follow her gaze through the glass. I can see up the street to the highway where two police cars and an ambulance are parked at the intersection, lights flashing. Four or five men and women are gathered around the shallow storm pond there. There are also several townspeople walking up the street toward them, and an officer coming down to meet them, his hand held out, indicating they shouldn’t come any closer.

  “Was there an accident?”

  “I’m not sure. I can’t see any cars pulled over.” More residents are starting to gather outside, clustered in groups of three or four. My stomach is sinking. Instinct tells me something terrible has happened.

  “I’ll stay here if you want to check.” Cora hesitates for a moment, then gives me a grateful look.

  “There are only three guests checked in right now. Do the best you can if anyone needs you until I’m back. I want to talk to TJ and Joanne for a moment.” The bell over the door jangles as she leaves, and I sit down behind the desk, feeling painfully out of place. My phone is upstairs, and the laptop in front of me is password-protected, so I have nothing to do but examine the room until she returns ten long minutes later.

  “There’s a body in the storm pond,” she says. “Somebody driving past called it in. No one from town seems to know who died because the police won’t let anyone come near, but the word going around is that it could have been a hitchhiker. I can’t think of anyone else who would have been walking up along the highway this early, anyway.” The frown lines between Cora’s eyes have disappeared now that she’s convinced herself it isn’t one of Soberly’s own. This town has seen enough mourning in the past couple weeks already.

  “A hit and run, maybe?” Cora only shrugs in reply. Something is bothering me, something about the manner of death, but I can’t quite get my mind to zero in on it.

  “Well I’m going to go over and have a shower,” I say after a moment’s awkward silence. “That couch sure is uncomfortable. Don’t think I’ll be sleeping on it again.”

  “Didn’t you notice? It’s a hide-a-bed.”

  “Oh, is it? Good to know.” I’m praying Cora isn’t as astute a lie detector as Kellen is, but she’s still distracted by the scene outside and doesn’t seem to notice how false I sound.

  Three blocks away from the inn, just as I’m about to round the corner onto Cora’s street, a teenage girl races by me at a full sprint, heading into the main part of town. Must be running to catch her bus to school, I tell myself. Or maybe she wants to check out the commotion about the hitchhiker. The uneasiness I’ve been feeling gets worse, and I turn back to look at the girl, who’s still running like her life depends on it. She’s not carrying a backpack. I turn around and retrace my steps, breaking into a jog when I see the scattered groups of people all cluster together into one. I’ve lost sight of the girl.

  When I reach the inn, Cora is standing on the step outside, shading her eyes with her hand. Everyone is looking up the road at the storm pond, where a state trooper is trying to hold back the girl, who flails and fights against his grip, trying to get past him.

  “Who is that?” I whisper to Cora, aghast.

  “Marnie and Gord Decker’s daughter, Kenzie,” she replies. Her face is pale. Kenzie, the girl Sheena had told me was found passed out in a trough a couple months ago.

  “Has anyone seen Gord this morning? Or Marnie?” someone in the cluster of townspeople asks, loud enough for the dozen or so people to hear.

  “Gord’s up in Seattle on business until the end of the week,” a female voice pipes up.

  “What about Marnie?” Heads swivel from side to side, waiting for someone to confirm that someone had laid eyes on the pharmacist this morning.

  “I’m calling her,” one person says.

  “Someone check the drugstore,” another calls out. A few people break away to do exactly that, while another small group goes back up the road to interrogate the troopers. Me, I know it’s hopeless. I’m positive Marnie is dead.

  ***

  The little girl in a smocked dress, barely out of toddlerhood, spotted the mahogany-colored colt at the edge of the pasture, nibbling at some grass. It was only a week old, and she thought it was the most beautiful creature in the world, with its dark mane and tail, and the white star emblazoned between its eyes. The sun’s rays made it look like it was cast from pure bronze. She believed the pony must be magic, to be so perfect. She knew she wasn’t allowed to leave the yard by herself, but she wanted to see the pony so badly she forgot the rules and climbed over the stile into the pasture, clutching a handful of wildflowers as an offering. Every time she approached the pony, however, it shied a few steps away, until it bounded off entirely, over to the watering hole where its mother drank. Still, the girl persisted, walking slowly to show she meant no harm.

  “I jutht want to be friendth,” she called out in her childish lisp. She had the idea that if she could tame the pony, it would let her ride it. In her fantasies, perched upon this colt’s back, she was a queen, but she could never tame it if it kept running away from her.

  When she reached the pond’s edge the colt pressed close into its mother’s side, alarmed, and the mare snorted a warning at the girl. She wisely sat down on the opposite side, dipping her bare feet into the cool water.

  “Don’t you like my flowerth?” she asked. Looking down at them, she saw how they were half-crushed from her climb over the stile and already starting to wilt. It was then she spotted the water lilies floating in the middle of the pond, their yellow and white spiky petals creating bright dots of color against the murky background of the water. That would be a much more suitable offering for the pony, she decided, and waded in. The pond was much deeper than she expected, however, and the water was up over her knees after a few steps in, with the lilies still out of reach. The hem of her dress trailed in the water as she inched a bit deeper, pulling herself forward with her toes an inch at a time in the squelchy mud. The pretty flowers were so close. She could feel a smooth, flat stone in front of her, and thinking it safe, stepped forward onto it, arm outstretched to grab a bloom. As soon as her foot made contact with the stone, however, it slipped sideways on a thick layer of algae and the girl plunged forward, the momentum pushing her into the center of the pond, where the water was much deeper. The shock of the cold water hitting her face caused her to inhale sharply, filling her lungs, and she panicked, flailing her limbs in all directions, not knowing which way was up. It was the first time her head had ever been submerged under water. Her foot scraped the bottom of the pond once, but she couldn’t find any purchase, nor did she have the sense to push herself up with it, and her head never broke the surface again. Within seconds, her vision went dark.

  ***

  That was the vision Marnie gave me the second time we met, when I’d stopped into the pharmacy to grab a book for the beach. With the whole town grieving Bill Blackmoor, it hadn’t been surprising she had death on her mind, nor had her statement that she didn’t much enjoy swimming. It was so unusual that she’d been found dead—assuming it really was her, and her daughter hadn’t jumped to the wrong conclusion somehow—in the same type manner as in the past, like Bill Blackmoor. Once was strange enough, but the odds of two people a
couple of days apart seemed astronomically small, especially when they were both such uncommon ways to die.

  “God, how terrible,” I say to Cora now. She’s still watching the scene play out. “That poor girl.” A paramedic is tending to Marnie’s daughter in the back of the ambulance, accompanied by two troopers. The consensus amongst the townspeople is that the troopers would have sent Kenzie back down the road if the victim was someone unknown to her, and most have given up hope that the dead person could be anyone else.

  The rest of the day passes achingly slow. After trying in vain to focus on the inn’s bookkeeping, I give it up as a bad job and trudge over to Cora’s house. I try to nap, but my dreams are full of people I know tumbling down a flight of stairs and landing in a pond, one after another. When it’s Kellen’s turn to step forward at the top of the stairs my eyes spring open and I spend the rest of the afternoon making notes in the journal I keep of my past-life encounters. My enthusiasm to find out the exact timing of Bill Blackmoor’s death has vanished; I’m mainly focused on trying to recall if anyone else in Soberly ever offered me a vision of their passing from another lifetime. As far as I can recall, no one has.

  Cora gets home shortly after six, with no new information about Marnie’s death, other than the fact that her husband was back in Soberly, and the Deckers were being supported by their friends and family. No one has a clue what she might have been doing up by the off-ramp before daybreak.

  I put together some spaghetti, and we eat together in stilted silence after my overtures at conversation are met with monosyllabic replies. After ten minutes, with half her food untouched, Cora puts her fork and knife together on her plate and pushes it away from her, saying she’s ready to turn in. Inwardly I sigh, reminding myself that she’s lost three people she knows in as many weeks, including her partner, and now has a complete stranger in her home to boot. Grief has little care for social niceties.