Axle's Secret

by Nia Arthurs

  My phone buzzes again. Probably Kolby calling to check where I am. My sneakers brush the gravel path as I start to turn around. Then I freeze. Turn back. Blink rapidly. Rub my eyes with the heel of my hand.

  The woman on the bench doesn’t dissolve into thin air. She’s still there. Head cocked to the side. Curly hair tossing in the breeze. Sketchbook balanced on her lap while a pencil scribbles furiously over the page.

  I don’t get it. Even in my lowest days, I’ve always been able to distinguish the differences between reality and imagination. Ember’s long gone. She shouldn’t be sitting on that bench with that sketchpad. My mind is playing tricks on me because I’m stressed about coming home.

  That’s all.

  But no matter how hard I try to reason with myself, the woman on the bench remains. I inch closer, glancing around every so often to make sure I didn’t conjure up the boogeyman along with my old crush.

  I’m a few paces away when the woman glances up, her shapely eyebrows furrowing. Her gaze is sharp, narrowed, burrowing into me.

  It’s really Ember. A pissed-off Ember, but she’s here. In front of me. Flesh and bones.

  I can’t believe it.

  She tosses her sketchbook closed with a scoff. “Do I know you?”

  My jaw drops but no sound comes out.

  Her look of censure intensifies and she slips her sketchbook into a woven purse. Unfolding toned, brown legs, she jumps to her feet. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you that it’s rude to stare?”

  “Ember?”

  She freezes and surveys me with suspicion. “How do you know my name?”

  “I’m Axle.” I run a hand through my hair, feeling like an overzealous fan encountering their idol for the first time. “We met a while back. I had a little brother. Kolby…” Embarrassed, I step back. “It was a long time ago. You probably don’t remember.”

  “Axle?” she says, dark eyes brightening. “Axle. Is that really you?”

  “Yeah.” I rub the scruff on my face. It’s been a while since I’ve shaved. Maybe the beard disguised my appearance more than I thought. Or maybe I look nothing like my sixteen-year-old self.

  “I can’t believe it.” Ember grins and my heart stops for a second. “How have you been? Where’s Kolby?” She glances behind me like she expects my brother to jump out of my shadow.

  “He’s at home preparing for his first showing at an art gallery. He won a competition at school.”

  Her jaw drops. “He’s an artist?”

  “Thanks to you. After that day, Kolby spent hours drawing and painting. I think he wanted to repay you for that sketch.”

  She laughs, a tinkling, fairy-like sound that draws a smile out of me in return. “Wow. I remember. His rendition of eyes was… unusual.”

  “Trust me, he’s gotten better. Some would say he’s an eye expert.”

  Ember stops and surveys me again, but this time there’s no suspicion. Just pure, unadulterated joy. “I’m so happy to hear that.”

  “If you’d like, you’re welcome to stop by and check his work out.” I fish in my wallet for the gallery invitation Kolby sent me and hand it over.

  “Awesome.” She glances up, eyes sparkling. “Can I bring a date?”

  My heart plummets. Which makes no sense. Ember is a stunning woman. It was foolish of me to assume that she was single. I sneak a peek at her ring finger. Bare. I stupidly breathe a sigh of relief.

  “A date? Yeah, sure.”

  “Great.” She glances at her watch. “I should get going. Hopefully I’ll see you tonight.”

  “Yeah, hopefully.”

  She gives me one more breathtaking smile and then turns and jogs away. I stand there for a solid five seconds, staring at her back and recovering from the warmth of her presence. It’s funny that, after all these years, Ember still affects me the way she did when I was a teenager.

  My phone chirps again. The sound jars me from my reverie. I shoot Kolby a text so he knows I’m on my way and climb into my car. Thoughts of Ember fill my mind so the miles fly by. I’m slightly shocked when I realize I’ve already arrived home.

  The moment I park in the concrete driveway, the front door pops open and a dark blur speeds down the stairs. I slip out of the car and slap hands with Kolby.

  “You’re here,” he says, his straight white teeth a sharp contrast to his dark skin. “With food.”

  I laugh and hand him the bag of tamales. “That explains why you’re so excited to see me.”

  “Nah, man. I’m happy you kept your promise.” He grins.

  Kolby is my height with a sturdy chest and muscular arms. He’s the star of his football team, but for all his muscles and height, he’s like an excited puppy.

  “Let’s head inside. Dad home?”

  Kolby nods. “Yeah, he’s roughing it with the casserole. I told Dad we could just cut out a chunk of it and throw it in the trash, but he says Mom will find out so he’s taking one for the team.”

  I laugh and follow Kolby inside the two-story Victorian home that I called my own for seventeen years. The walls are decorated with photos of our family—a bunch of pale, white faces with a black one in the middle.

  When people visit the house, they all stop and stare at our photographs. I’m sure we look strange to some, but to Mom, Dad and me, our family portraits wouldn’t be complete without Kolby.

  The kitchen is a cheerful yellow and delicate white curtains flutter in the windows facing the back yard. Dad is sitting around the counter. When he glances up, I notice his whiskered cheeks stuffed with food.

  “Son!” He croaks and then swallows so his voice isn’t so muffled. “You’re home.”

  “Hey, Dad.”

  He springs out of the chair and grabs me in a hug. “It’s so good to see you.”

  “You too.” I slap his back. “You got fat.”

  “Mom’s been too busy to cook lately so we’re eating more food,” Kolby jokes.

  Dad grabs him and pulls him into our huddle. “Man, it feels good to have both my sons under one roof. It’s been what? Twelve years?”

  “More like ten.” I break out of his hold. “I brought tamales if you want to eat something with flavor for a change.”

  Kolby scrunches his nose. “Ouch.”

  “Thank you.” Dad pulls out a barstool. “What brings you back to town? It seemed like you were dead-set against returning.”

  I glance at Kolby. “This guy.”

  “I told him about my art exhibition,” Kolby says, forking a slice of tamales.

  “Oh.” Dad arches a bushy grey eyebrow. “So you couldn’t stop by for your mother’s birthday, but you came for Kolby.”

  I glance away, shifting uneasily. “I called Mom. I sent a card.”

  “I know. We have a box of cards.” Dad eyes me intently. His voice is light, but a hint of a scolding runs beneath it.

  Kolby glances between the two of us and laughs. “The tamales is great. You should have some, Dad.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Dad shifts out of lecture mode and I let out a deep breath.

  It’s been a while since I’ve fought with my parents. Ten years ago, I was the typical angst-riddled teenager who felt disconnected and misunderstood. When Kolby joined our family, I formed a new appreciation for my mom and dad, but even that couldn’t keep me in this town.

  After… everything, I had to get out. Had to get away.

  When I look up, I realize Kolby is staring at me. He frowns. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” I grab one of the foil-wrapped meals. “Just excited about tonight.”

  His entire face lights up. “So am I. I just wish Ember could be there. She’s the reason I got into art in the first place.”

  “It would be great,” I murmur. There’s no way I’m telling Kolby about meeting Ember in the park and inviting her to his showing. If I inform him and she doesn’t show, he’ll be crushed.

  And frankly… so will I.

  6

  Ember

  “Wait, so you just
ran away?” Aunt B rests her elbows on the table and tilts her head so her long black hair falls over her cheeks. “You didn’t get his number or anything? You just… poof. Disappeared?”

  “Basically.” I roll over and rub my temple.

  “It’s no wonder you’ve never had a boyfriend.”

  I half-rise from the couch. “Aunt B!”

  She shrugs and sips her glass of water. “You were into this Axle guy since the day you met him, and you haven’t been able to connect with anyone else since. He was your first love.”

  “That’s… I mean… I was fifteen!”

  “So? You were very mature for that age.”

  I laugh. “Thanks, but you’re being a tad overdramatic. Plus, I’ve dated. It’s not like I’m a crazy cat lady.”

  “You’re allergic to cats.”

  “Not the point.” I glare at her. “Axle’s just some guy I met at random when I was a kid. It’s nothing.”

  “Then why did you make up a stupid excuse to run away from him today?”

  “Because…” My eyes bounce to the ceiling as I search for an answer. “I don’t know. I just—why did he have to meet me today of all days?” I appraise my faded T-shirt and shorts with scorn. “I’m not wearing makeup. My hair’s a mess. I looked horrible.”

  “Tell me this,” Aunt B abandons her lunch and sidles toward the sofa, “why did you go to that park in the first place?”

  “It’s convenient.”

  “Liar.” She wiggles her finger. “We have a park right here in the complex.”

  I avoid her eyes. “It’s not because of him.”

  “Mm-hm.”

  “It’s not.”

  “And I’m not thirty and single. Girl, please.”

  “Fabulous.”

  Aunt B stops and stares at me. “What?”

  “You’re thirty, single and fabulous.”

  A smile quirks her plump lips. “Be that as it may, I’m disappointed. You’ve gone out of your way to visit that park for years and the day he finally shows up, you bail.”

  “I didn’t finish my story.” I brush my curls out of my face.

  Aunt B plops into the couch beside me. “Really?”

  I produce the ticket Axle offered. “His little brother is participating in an art exhibit. It’s tonight. Wanna come?”

  “Will there be food?”

  “I have no idea.”

  She scrunches her nose.

  “But,” I tack on, “I’ll treat you to dinner.”

  “It’s a deal.”

  I shake my head. “You’re the one with the fancy job. Do you have any idea what a teacher’s salary looks like? You should be treating me.”

  “Hey, most of my paycheck goes to taxes and the mortgage on this place. You live with your mother and you barely go anywhere so… you’re the rich one. Besides, I’ll have to lend you a dress and do your makeup tonight. Consider dinner my fee.”

  “You have a point.”

  Aunt B slaps my thigh. “Should we start getting ready?”

  “What?” I glance at my watch. “It’s just after one. The event isn’t until seven.”

  She gives me a once-over. “Em, I don’t want to hurt your feelings but… you need a lot of work.”

  “Are you sure you didn’t want to hurt my feelings?”

  “Come on.” Aunt B grabs my hand and yanks me out of the sofa. “Let’s get you dolled up so you can snag your old heartthrob.”

  “Who says ‘heartthrob’?” I murmur as I sail behind her.

  Aunt B goes all in with my glam session. She washes and blow-dries my hair, then painstakingly flat irons it so the rebellious coils turn sleek and glossy. She paints my nails a fiery red and brushes the polish on my toes too.

  By the time I’m finished with my makeup I look like an entirely different person.

  I stare into the mirror, trying hard not to cringe.

  “What?” Aunt B dips her face close to mine. “You don’t like it?”

  “No, it looks great.”

  “Then?”

  “Isn’t it too… obvious? I don’t want to seem like I’m trying too hard.”

  “Trying too hard to what?” She sends me a mischievous look. “Stop worrying. You look fine.”

  “I just don’t want to embarrass myself. I don’t even know if he has a girlfriend.”

  “At least you know he’s not married.” She pauses when I don’t respond. “You… did check his finger, right?”

  “Was I supposed to?”

  Aunt B clicks her tongue. “You always check the ring finger. I mean, sure, some gross pigs take off their ring to pick up chicks, but it’s still a good practice to look.”

  “No one taught me this.”

  “That’s why you have me.” She winks. “Anyway, it’s too late to turn back. We’re going and you’ll knock his socks off. Now just wait there for a bit. I’ll get ready then we can put on our dresses and head out.”

  Aunt B doesn’t take long. When she reenters the room, she’s wearing a sleek white gown.

  She thrusts a tight-fitting red one at me. It crisscrosses at the back and has a plunging neckline along with a slit up the thigh.

  “It’s a Saturday night. Won’t the stripper you borrowed this from need it later?”

  Aunt B cocks her head to the side. “Don’t quit your day job, honey. And no, this is perfectly modest.”

  “Perfectly…” I cough. “I’m not wearing that.”

  “Come on, Em. No man will be able to resist you in this.”

  “That’s not me and I’m not willing to change who I am for any guy. Even Axle.”

  “Fine.” Aunt B sighs like I do when one of my students is being particularly stupid, but I can’t say it to their face. “I’ll find something else.”

  We settle on a sleeveless navy blue dress that stops at my knees. Aunt B grumbles about how the red one was a ‘show stopper’, but I feel classy and comfortable in my choice.

  The moment we step into the restaurant, every head turns to settle on my aunt. She sashays behind the waiter, her head held high, completely oblivious to the air that is charged with admiration—from men and women alike.

  We settle into our seats and I can’t resist laughing. “I think you’re responsible for that couple over there breaking up. The guy hasn’t stopped staring since you came in.”

  Aunt B shrugs and holds her menu. “What looks good?”

  I take her cue and drop the topic to peruse the menu. A few minutes later, the waiter arrives and we give our orders.

  As the waiter trots away, Aunt B flips her hair over her shoulder and pins me with a thoughtful look. “How’s your mother?”

  “The same. She’s moody, temperamental, unpredictable. I’m afraid to come home everyday because I never know what I’ll find.”

  Aunt B bites down on her bottom lip. “Is she still refusing rehab?”

  “I’m about to give up on getting through to her. If she dies—” My breath hitches. “I don’t care.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “You’re right.” I trace a pattern into the napkin beside my silverware. “I’m just frustrated. Prescription pills aren’t illegal and even if they were, she’d sell everything to get her hands on them. Lately…”

  Aunt B leans closer. “What?”

  “She’s been more out of it than usual. Claims she can see Diandre. It’s like she’s stuck in the past.”

  “Taking care of her is a lot of responsibility for you to handle on your own.” Aunt B licks her lips. “The siblings have been talking…”

  “Uh-oh.”

  Aunt B smiles tenderly. “How do you feel about moving your mother into our parent’s house? You guys ran halfway across the country to get away from the memories, but being so far from us hasn’t been good for Nina. If she’s back here—”

  “Yes!”

  “Yes?”

  I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling the years of helplessness and pain wash over me. I was only fifteen when my mo
ther chained me to her and used me as her crutch while she dealt with her grief.

  My life was incredibly sheltered. I couldn’t go to parties, couldn’t drive a car, ride a bike or do anything that was mildly dangerous.

  College? Forget about it. I studied online. When it was time to find a job, I was worried Mom would die from the stress.

  To my surprise, Mom insisted she’d be fine. Turns out, she was so confident because she found another coping mechanism. Bottles of sleeping pills popped up everywhere when I got my teaching position.

  It feels like my mother’s very existence is embroiled with me, and I haven’t had a chance to breathe since. As much as I love her, it’s been so overwhelming to be her sole reason for living.

  At this point, I don’t care how selfish I sound. I just… I need a break.

  Tears fill Aunt B’s eyes. “I’m so sorry, Ember. I should have done more to help you.”

  “It’s okay.” I realize I’m getting emotional too so I tilt my head back and fan my face. “Don’t cry. If you cry, I’ll start bawling and then I’ll mess up my makeup.”

  She chuckles though her eyes are still glassy.

  We finish our meal, steering the topic toward less emotionally charged topics. By the time Aunt B drives to the gallery, we’re in much higher spirits.

  The moment we step inside, I inhale the scent of exposed plaster and money. I’m glad Aunt B convinced me to dress up because the clientele in this gallery are definitely upper crust.

  Despite my initial discomfort, I’m quickly pulled into the art on the walls. Aunt B drifts off to enjoy the champagne and the appetizers lining the white-dressed table, so I’m strolling solo. But I don’t mind.

  I stop in front of a painting that is sectioned off by velvet ropes. The skylight blares over the face of a dark-skinned old man. Wrinkles form deep grooves beneath his black, wizened eyes. I find myself enraptured by those eyes. They remind me of my great-grandfather, so rapt and full of wisdom.

  When the painting finally frees me, I glance at the placard resting below. My eyes bug. “Kolby?”

  “Yes?” a voice says.

  My head whips up and my gaze collides with a familiar pair of sparkling brown eyes. Except they’re not set in a smooth baby face with chubby cheeks. No, this guy is all shoulders and muscles fit into a perfectly tailored black jacket over a white shirt.