Beauty (A Midsummer Suspense Tale)

by King, Asha

  Maybe it was her parents dying. Her aunts Donna and Lora were her father’s sisters. They probably missed their older brother. Aunt Merry was Aunt Donna’s wife, had been with them Bryar’s whole life too. Sometimes she watched Bryar oddly when she was disciplined for this and that or fighting with the others, like words were about to bubble forth, but then she held her tongue again and never said what was on her mind. After two decades, Bryar had expected them to relax a bit, but so far? So far they acted like she was still thirteen.

  She left her bedroom with a sigh, stepping into the dark narrow hallway and toward the main part of the cottage. The air was thick with the scents of dinner. Lora had been busy. Whether they all ate a regular breakfast or lunch wasn’t something anyone focused on, but an enormous family dinner was always on the table in the evening, home cooked from scratch. On the dining room table, a basket of freshly baked sliced bread waited, steam still rising. Dishes of roasted, spiced potatoes, fall vegetables from the garden, salad, and pork chops. Despite her annoyance with the family situation, the sight and scent of food—the familiarity of the daily ritual—filled her with welcome comfort and she found herself smiling.

  Plates were already set out and she took a seat on one side of the table. Aunt Merry set down tongs and a wooden bowl of salad, settling her plump self down to Bryar’s left. Her graying hair was spun up in a messy, loose bun, and glasses sat crookedly on her long nose.

  She smiled warmly at Bryar. “So how was your day? You disappeared this afternoon.”

  “Went for a walk.” Bryar busied herself spooning potatoes onto her plate as Aunt Lora and Aunt Donna entered.

  “Must’ve been quite a walk.” Tall, slender Lora sat next, cocking a thin, shaped brow up in question as she met Bryar’s gaze.

  Bryar kept her poker face. “Well, the giant drunken orgy was outside of town, plus they needed me to pick up the meth first from the dealer. So that took a bit of time.”

  “Such a mouth on you,” Donna admonished with a disapproving look as she took her seat at the head of the table. Donna was the eldest of the women, in her late-forties, and was the authoritarian of the three. Her hair was cut short and severe, clothes conservative and simple. She and Lora were a study in contrasts that way—Lora wore her black hair long and flowing, her clothes casual and usually a size too big for her willowy frame. The two of them had features in common—the width of their noses, the tapering of their chins, and dark, dark eyes that were similar to Bryar’s own, skin a shade just a touch darker than medium brown. Enough, perhaps, to put pieces together of what Bryar’s own father had looked like, but not enough for more details. And that was more than she knew of her mother. A few times, when she was younger, she would catch odd little stories of her parents, usually during a tangent in a conversation about something else, but then her aunts would meet gazes and grow silent again, and no more would be said.

  Gina Cassidy, at least, had that family photo of hers. Bryar practically felt like an orphan, despite being raised by family.

  She brushed the thoughts aside and stuffed a hunk of potato in her mouth to avoid any more conversation.

  Unfortunately, her haunts had other ideas.

  “Lilly Pepper down the road said she saw you downtown today,” Donna continued. She’d spooned food out on her plate but didn’t pick up her fork, instead folding her hands on the table in front of her.

  Bryar scowled at her. “Lilly Pepper is a desperate-for-attention old gossip who will tell you anything if she thinks you’ll pay attention to her.”

  “That wasn’t a denial.”

  “Yeah, I went uptown. I was bored. I went to the bakery and ate cookies. Are you going to send me to bed without supper?”

  “Bryar,” Lora started, but Donna held up a hand to silence her sister.

  “If you head out all day, we just want to know where,” Donna said carefully, both her tone and expression stony.

  Irritation rose. Bryar stuffed it back down again and took a bite of bread that she chewed mercilessly. It didn’t make her feel any better so she gulped down water. The ensuing silence hadn’t helped at all, though, as Aunt Donna pinned her down with a steady look. Merry shifted uncomfortably in her seat, staring down at her food, while Lora glanced between her sisters with shoulders tensed like a storm was about to hit.

  “I’m twenty-two goddamn years old,” Bryar bit out. “I am allowed to leave the house and go where I want. I didn’t rob a liquor store or something.”

  “The new college course catalog came in,” Merry interrupted. “I left it on the table, just in case—”

  But there was no diffusing the tension in the room as Bryar and Aunt Donna locked eyes, old simmering anger rising again.

  “Bryar would actually have to go to class to make use of anything in the catalogue.”

  “Bryar would actually have to be allowed to get a job with what she learned in college, too, now wouldn’t she?” Bryar mimicked her aunt’s tone. “And leave the house. And interact with people. And, gasp, have the internet for studying. And maybe not always be home for dinner.”

  “And maybe not sleep with your teacher and threaten his job.”

  Heat crawled up her cheeks and turned her blood to fire. That wasn’t what happened but of course Aunt Donna would never listen to her. Would never believe her.

  Bryar stood abruptly, her fork clattering on the table and chair scraping on the floor. “The meal was lovely, Aunt Lora, but I’m not hungry. All those cookies I ate earlier like a naughty six-year-old who spoiled her dinner, I guess.” She stormed away, the old floor creaking under each heavy step, and slammed her bedroom door behind her. Her breaths heaved, her eyes were hot and itchy with stupid tears she refused to shed. How could she go from feeling like an adult, like she was finally getting in control of things by procuring a job at last, to feeling so...so small? It took Aunt Donna just seconds to cut her down.

  Granted, Bryar had a smart mouth and certainly got herself into trouble, but nothing was good enough for Donna. Nothing ever had been. And she couldn’t joke, couldn’t be playful. Even as a child, Bryar only remembered reprimands and rules. Never hugs or love from the woman.

  Her bedroom was dark and she left it that way, throwing herself instead onto the bed and staring up at the ceiling. Time ticked on, silence continued. No one came to speak to her, thankfully, as she didn’t think she could take Merry’s kindness or Lora’s jokes while she felt like that.

  At least she still had a plan. She had a job now and Aunt Donna couldn’t do anything to stop her from keeping it. Gina didn’t hire her as a favor for the aunts, she did it because she needed an employee. The job would lead to money and experience, which could help her get another job, and she could eventually get her own place.

  Bryar breathed deeply, her heart rate calming at last.

  Outside the moon rose, and with it came shouts and giggles. She drew herself up and cracked open the window to listen over the whistling fall wind. In the distance, she spotted a group of moving figures and flashlights.

  She knew exactly where they were going—there was a path to the beach that cut through the woods behind the cottage, inaccessible by road. This late in the season, beach parties grew few and far between, but it wasn’t that cold yet and a Friday night, after all.

  Bryar debated for a moment, then closed the window and climbed off the bed. It wasn’t like she had anything else to be doing and getting out for a bit might make her feel better. Someone always had a keg and lots of liquor, maybe some weed. She was acquaintances with most of the people in town who went, and familiar faces might be nice. Occasionally some new college guys hit the parties.

  Even if the night totally sucked, it was better than hanging out in the cottage all night, confined to her room while avoiding her aunts.

  She slipped an old leather jacket over her T-shirt, and stuffed her feet into sneakers. Paused near the antique vanity in the corner, which was stacked high with records, old notebooks, and somewhere some makeup, bu
t decided against doing anything exciting. Her long curly hair hung loose and would just get windblown anyway, and whatever makeup she had on from earlier would do. She wasn’t fussy. Just wanted a couple of drinks and to forget the argument from the evening.

  She kept the light off and eased the door open. Hopping through her window would work too but all she needed was to land in the plants outside and leave footprints everywhere. Voices sounded from the main room of the cottage, low enough that she couldn’t make out words, and water ran in the kitchen sink. It would mask her exit.

  Bryar slipped out the rear door into the night and picked her way through the yard, following the bobbing flashlights and voices in the distance, determined to see her sour mood improved if only for a few hours.

  ****

  The isolation of the house, even for just the afternoon and evening, had done wonders to relax Sawyer.

  It was the silence, probably. That and the easy laughter and conversation from Scott and Val, people he knew and trusted. He still couldn’t stop himself from glancing out the windows frequently, watching for a sign of someone, or bracing periodically like he expected a knock at the door, but little by little the tension unwound from him. They’d agreed upon no internet, no news, no phone. Val knew he still carried his and made him take it out and shut it in a drawer in his bedroom before she’d let him sit for her homemade lasagna, and he was hungry enough that he agreed to it.

  As the evening wore on, Scott and Val ended up in the hot tub with wine, and though they’d invited Sawyer, he declined. They needed a break, needed time away from him, and he was starting to feel like they were babysitters at this point.

  Instead he found himself wandering out the back door of the beach house. It was windy but still warm, fresh air coming off the water in the distance. He moved down the hill away from the house, through the combination locked gate cut in the fence out back, and beyond the bright lights burning through the windows until he was guided by the glow of the pale moon tinging the sand white. Waves rolled along the shore, restlessly. Silence stretched on in the night and he paused by the beach, closing his eyes and taking in a few breaths. He reached for his phone, remembered it was back at the house, and was glad Val made him leave it there.

  The boathouse and dock lay to his right but the keys were back at the house. Laughter spilled out into the air, somewhere to his left. He opened his eyes again and narrowed them in that direction, down the beach. Something orange glowed far off, beyond one of the sandy hills. A fire pit, probably. There were other houses in the area but each far off—it could be one of them, even during this season, or kids having fun on a Friday night.

  He should probably head back to the house, just in case it wasn’t innocent kids but something else. Surely, though, if some photographer or something had followed him from town, they wouldn’t have a bonfire going. He found himself moving forward, shoes sinking into sand and slowing him down, just to check it out. It might technically be on his rented property, after all, and if so, he didn’t want any trouble while he was there—it was the last thing he needed—and he’d either shoo them off or call Scott to talk to them. Some other accident or something would just rile up the tabloids even more.

  The closer he drew, the more he made out—at least twenty people or so all scattered, with most near the bonfire and the rest in little groupings nearby. Maybe a couple in their late teens but most in their twenties, the oldest around his age of mid-twenties. Laughing, talking, a couple dancing to soft rock from someone’s iPod set on a towel. A couple splashed at the edge of the water, two girls shrieking about the temperature of the lake. Most had beer, a few smoked.

  Normal college kids. Normal. Christ, he forgot what that looked like.

  Someone near the bonfire caught sight of him and squinted in his direction. “Hey!” the girl called. “Come on over!”

  Sawyer froze.

  He should retreat. Fast. Of course a history of being recognized taught him not to flee—people were like wild predators that way, they’d always chase.

  “If you’re waiting for someone, they’ll probably be here soon,” she continued, then shifted her attention back to the guy she’d been talking to.

  Not recognized then.

  Admittedly, he was curious. It had been so long since he’d just hung out with normal people, no one knowing his name. And his clothes were casual, just jeans and a plain T-shirt under a navy button down; chestnut hair a little longer than it normally was and unstyled. The roughness of a five o’clock shadow clutched his jaw. If he stayed back from the light and mostly kept to himself, he might not be recognized.

  It was stupid to even risk it, of course, but Sawyer did a lot of stupid things. They always got him into trouble, too, but that had never stopped him before.

  He silently accepted the invitation, nodding but avoiding eye contact with the girl who’d called him. She sat on the lap of another young guy who nuzzled her shoulder while she squealed and giggled. Good—she was occupied and the invitation was strictly friendly; he’d soon be forgotten. When someone thrust a beer his way, he accepted and found a spot to sit, an old thick log that stretched away from the glow of the bonfire. Enough to keep him in shadows. It was there he sat and observed, just enjoying being in the background for a bit. The iPod shuffled to another song, and the murmur of voices was a soothing white noise.

  Steps whispered over sand behind him. Sawyer tensed immediately—force of habit—and glanced over his shoulder, not fully turning but enough to see a figure moving in his peripheral vision. He relaxed when he saw it was just another college-age kid come for the bonfire.

  Kid wasn’t really accurate, though—young woman. Early to mid-twenties, roughly what the rest of the crowd was. Why he kept thinking of them as “kids” when they were his age but not himself, he didn’t know. Probably because he felt like he’d aged decades in the same amount of time.

  The girl swept past him without a glance in his direction, headed straight for the cooler. The guy sitting nearest—the surfer type, with floppy sandy hair and a big goofy grin—grasped a bottle of beer and held it up to her in his big maw.

  “Something stronger’d be better,” she said, pausing in the sand with her back to Sawyer. She wore a short beat-up leather jacket and tight faded jeans that showed off her ass—the glow of the bonfire wasn’t much to see from at this angle but enough that he could appreciate the assets she offered.

  His gaze flickered away. Last thing he needed was to be the new weirdo in the dark staring at some poor girl’s behind.

  “How’s this?” Surfer Guy said after rummaging through the bottom of the cooler. He produced a tiny bottle, the sampler size for hard liquor. She accepted it, stowed it in her pocket, and wiggled her fingers for another.

  “Leech,” he muttered but gave her a good-natured grin and passed a second mini bottle.

  The girl swung around and picked her way around the bonfire again, plopping herself down next to Sawyer. The others gave her a nod and a wave but that was it, like perhaps they all knew each other but not enough for her to join one of the small groups.

  He looked at her again, took in her profile. Thick curls of black hair rolled down over her shoulders, wind-tossed but not messy. Cute nose, full lips. The orange light caught long lashes over smart eyes. She lifted the beer bottle to her lips and took a long drink, sighing deeply when she pulled it back again.

  “Long day,” she said.

  He realized she was talking to him just a moment too late to say something back casually.

  Instead the pause was long enough for her to look his way and cock a brow in question. She wiggled the bottle of liquor in her other hand, some kind of local whiskey. “How was yours?”

  Sawyer studied her eyes, looking for any sign that she recognized him. For a moment he lost himself in their dark depths, searching and searching though coming up with nothing. She was guarded—too guarded to get much of a read on her.

  Her cheeks darkened, though, and gaze swiftly
averted—it was then he knew the query was genuine. She didn’t know who he was.

  “Also very long,” he said. He angled his beer toward hers in greeting. “To long days and quiet nights.”

  A tiny smile played on her lips, the kind that made his heart thump—it was just the quirk of the corners of her mouth, the promise of something saucy there, and he found his attention quite focused on it.

  She reached over and clinked the bottom of her beer bottle with his. “Hopefully not too quiet.”

  Sawyer grinned in reply, his previous sour mood long forgotten. Perhaps the walk along the beach wasn’t a bad idea after all.

  Chapter Three

  Bryar kept stealing glances at guy beside her. She didn’t know him—hadn’t seen him around here before. She didn’t know all the guys from the community college, and plenty had friends from elsewhere that showed up, but usually they came in groups. This one sat alone and no one spoke to him, like perhaps they didn’t know him either.

  Weird.

  Still, he wasn’t bad to look at. Hair was brown, long enough to brush his brow and curl around his ears. Jaw strong and square with a dusting of five o’clock shadow. He looked like the type who was normally fairly clean-cut but was more delicious when scuffed up and rough around the edges. An open button-down was layered over a T-shirt, the wind cutting through it. Just about everyone wore a jacket heading to the beach—a bit odd that he didn’t. He must’ve parked close.

  Even the smallest movement, to lean back a bit or take a sip of his beer, displayed strength from broad shoulders and sculpted arms. Heat moved up Bryar’s cheeks as she realized she was staring and she looked away. Weird that no one else was talking to him—a couple of the girls there that night would climb the first warm body they found—but the party was already in full swing and perhaps no one had gotten a good look at him.