Secrets In Our Scars

by Rebecca Trogner

It’s a valid question, but one I’m never sure how to answer. To me, my real family is Stella, Mae, and the dearly missed Reggie.

  “My biological parents, you mean. Well, I used to think my mother would appear one day. It’s not like you can forget where you left your baby.” Roy places his hand over mine. “Something must have happened, or, maybe she’s a horrible person, not caring if I lived or died.” He squeezes my hand. “Though it’s like whoever left me knew Stella and Mae would find me and care for me. It’s been so long now, I guess no one’s gonna come back for me.”

  Scott nods.

  “Though...” Should I tell them? Maybe they can help? Or perhaps they’ve heard of something like this before?

  Roy lifts his head. “Go on, we can hear you thinking.”

  “Every year, right around my birthday, I receive a gift.”

  Roy’s eyes narrow into slits.

  “You just find a gift. Not knowing who it’s from?” Scott asks while working. “How do you know it’s from the same person?”

  “Always a box wrapped in white paper with a daisy on top.”

  Roy grunts in that masculine way he has. Is it pain or consternation?

  Scott ties off a stitch. “And the gifts?”

  “Relevant to the year. Like the person knows me, or knows someone who does. The year I entered dance class I got a tiny glass figurine of a ballerina. The year I got my license it was a toy car.”

  “And this year?” Roy asks.

  “Nothing.” This is the first time I haven’t received anything.

  “Where are they left?”

  Scott asks a good question. “By Mangler’s front door. By my car. At the back door to the shop, or on the sidewalk. Always around the store somewhere, but never where we can detect who left them.”

  “Easy enough,” Roy grumbles. “We’ll put perimeter cameras around the store.”

  “We have cameras on both doors.” I do my best to keep from sighing or rolling my eyes. Does he think we’re morons?

  “Trust me; ours are better than anything you could buy.” Roy’s speech isn’t slurred, but a bit slow.

  “He’ll be alright.” Scott winks. “Slipped a happy pill in with the antibiotic.”

  Roy turns his head enough to glare at Scott behind him. “Fuck you, Scott.”

  “Right back at ya, brother.” Scott twists his wrist, and the needle dips into Roy’s back. “You’re doing great, Daisy. Tell us more.”

  “I was three when my aunts realized this was a pattern and talked to the sheriff. He said he couldn’t do anything.” Even though I try to ignore it, I’m disturbed by the presents and the unknown giver, and it sits on my chest like a giant weight. I read once how people were tortured with weights put on their chest until they were crushed to death. Sometimes, I’m overwhelmed by it, like with each passing year the uncertainty and fear will render me senseless. “When I was older, I talked to Sheriff Brody and asked if he remembered anything strange, you know, on the day they found me. If there was a horse show in town, a party, or something causing a lot of visitors in the area. He said there wasn’t a thing.”

  Scott catches my eye and lifts two fingers, mouthing two more minutes. I scramble for anything to say. “No missing persons were reported. No babies were stolen from hospitals. It’s like I appeared out of thin air.”

  “We’re done, Buddy.” Scott pulls a squeeze bottle from his pack and drenches the wound with a brown liquid. “Hold on while it dries. I’ll get a bandage.” He catches my eye. “Try to keep him from exerting himself too much this evening.” He winks. “I’ve already closed this up twice.”

  My face flames, thinking of what he’s implied.

  Roy lets out a long, exhausted groan.

  “Are you alright?” I ask.

  “All good.” Without lifting his head, he reaches out and takes my hand. “You’ve got me now. I’ll find the person haunting you.”

  I’ve never thought of it like that. And it should reassure me I haven’t received anything this year, but it doesn’t because that means whoever it is has dropped dead or stopped caring, and I’ll never know who I am.

  “Thank you.” It’s all I can think to say and yet it’s inadequate, because I sense in ways I can’t comprehend yet, Roy will make it better. And not for the first time, I wish I knew why I feel this way. Why am I drawn to him? Why does he care for me? I’m a second away from asking when I notice his grip loosen, and his breathing deepens. I slip my hand away and go out to the front porch. It’s cooler now, with a slight breeze rustling through the trees, a harbinger of things to come. Scott slips in next to me without a sound.

  “He’ll be alright.” He gives me a quick once-over. “I don’t know what you are to him, but when he got your call, he was a man possessed to get back to you.”

  “I’m…we’re friends.”

  “Right.” Scott goes to the Suburban, places his pack inside and pulls out another. He drops it on the porch and reaches into his pants pocket. “If you can, get him to take one of these when he wakes up.” He extends his hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Daisy Aldridge.”

  He’s assumed Roy is staying with me. I have the room. He’s injured. It’s the least I could do. Like Reggie taught me, I firmly grasp his large hand and shake. “You too. I’ll take good care of Roy.”

  Chapter Five

  It’s not long before I hear Roy moving around in the kitchen. When I go inside, the back screen door shuts, the aluminum lid of my garbage can rattles, and he returns and leans against the kitchen counter.

  The air is sucked out of my lungs with him facing me, shirtless. The canvas of his muscled chest is chiseled and bulky, in the way I imagine a medieval warrior might have been. How would it feel to press against his warmth? Feel his arms wrap around me? The need pulls at me, and I don’t understand why I feel this way. Vincent’s been in my home plenty of times. I’ve seen his chest and, well, it’s only a chest. Being near Roy makes me want to explore his body one inch at a time.

  “Daisy.”

  Why is it so hard to maintain my composure? I swallow, wet my lips, and smile. “Do you need anything? Coke, ice tea, water,” I offer.

  “I’ve imposed on your hospitality enough for one night.”

  “Please.” I take a step closer to him. “I know you’re hurt and tired, but I’d like you to stay the night.” The intensity of his eyes is too much, and I have to avert my gaze. “After everything you’ve done for me.”

  He pushes away from the counter and slides his finger under my chin. “Look at me.”

  My nerve endings light up like a Christmas tree. My eyes travel up his legs, over his chest, bare except the dark hairs, to his neck. I finally meet his eyes, the color of oak leaves.

  “You don’t owe me anything.”

  A raging inferno is burning me from the inside. “Please. Stay. I’ll make us dinner.” I point upstairs. “I have the guest bed ready.”

  His eyes widen at the word bed. “Alright.” He slowly rolls his injured shoulder. “I’ll need to take a bath first.”

  Right, as do I, still in my sweat-soaked clothes. “Me too.” I smile. “Come on, I’ll take you to it.”

  I lead him upstairs through my bedroom and into the connected bath. I place fresh towels on the toilet seat, grab a bottle of shampoo from under the sink cabinet, and make sure there’s a new bar of soap in the holder.

  “Anything else you need?” Involuntarily, I glance at Reggie’s razor sitting on the tub ledge.

  “You could wash my back.”

  A giggle escapes. Stop acting like a little girl, I scold myself. “Hmm. I’m a shower person, and…but if you need anything…” The room is too small with him in it, silly because it’s a big bathroom, even by modern standards. I walk quickly to stand in the doorway like a frightened rabbit ready to flee.

  He turns on the taps and smiles like he knows a secret. “I’ve missed that expressive face of yours. Go on, take your shower. I’ll meet you in the kitchen when I’m done.�
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  “Okay,” I squeak, and all but run from the room.

  Midway down the hall, I realize I’ve left his backpack on the porch. He must have clothes in it. It’s heavier than I expect as I hoist it onto my shoulder. I’m winded by the time I carry it up the stairs and into the bathroom, where it drops to the floor with a thud.

  “Sweet Baby Jesus.” I thought his chest was impressive. That was nothing, my inner voice scoffs. He’s Zeus in the flesh. He’s even got the beard, though his hair isn’t white and not as long as the sculptures. I’m sure a thunderbolt will appear in his hand at any minute, ready to smite my maidenhood so he can ravish me. Those thighs, thick and muscled, flowing up to his hips and massive—

  “Did you change your mind?”

  “What?” I can’t keep my eyes from what’s between his legs. It’s proportional to the rest of him, and it’s growing. I take an involuntary step forward.

  At ease with his nakedness, he turns the taps off and reaches his hand out to me. “Let’s get you out of those clothes before the water gets cold.”

  Yes, I lean forward, let’s do. I snap out of my erection-induced haze and walk backward. “No.” I’m breathing like I’ve run a two-minute mile. “I…I…need to go.”

  He tilts his head to the side, like he’s trying to figure out why I’m standing here with my clothes on and staring at his erection. The heat in the room makes me dizzy and Roy, now sliding into the tub with his long legs bent at the knee, is all too much. I bump into the doorframe as I back out and fast-walk to my dresser, grab the first thing I touch, and sprint back to the guest bathroom. I don’t take a full breath until I’ve closed and locked the door. Then I unlock it because it just seems wrong. He would never walk in here. I don’t know how I know that, but I do.

  My legs shake, and I’m woozy like I might pass out. I plop down on the toilet and put my head in my hands. What is happening to me? I want to go back. I want to strip down and get in the bath with him. What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m attracted to him. Is it possible?

  “No, it’s not,” I tell myself.

  And what about the way he looked at me? He wanted me to join him? Briskly, I yank off my clothes and step into the too-hot shower. It stings and burns, and I force myself to endure it while I soap a washcloth and rub it over my legs and arms and body. What if Roy were here with me?

  Stop it. Nothing would happen. Like nothing happened with—

  Please, dear God, don’t let me think about that. I lean against the tile for support.

  I shampoo, rinse, and apply conditioner. It takes too much time. I should cut it into one of those cute pixie cuts, but I know I won’t. My hair is my shield to hide behind. One final rinse and I’m done and out of the sweltering shower.

  Immediately, I open the window, hoping the steam will escape, and towel off my body, red and splotchy from the hot water.

  I hate being out of control. I hate not understanding what’s going on in my head. Even in my dark moments, I usually know why I’m doing something. With Roy, I just don’t know how to deal with the way he makes me feel.

  Folded on the counter are my favorite flannel pajamas, a Christmas gift from my aunts. I guess I was on autopilot when I fled the bathroom, and my mind picked my most comforting attire.

  Won’t make a difference, I tell myself as I slip them on, and roughly towel dry my thick red hair. Without better options, I press my hair between the towel to get as much water from it as I can and finger through my curls until it’s not so unruly looking. I scoop up my dirty clothes and make my way to the kitchen to find Roy wiping off my table and counters.

  “You don’t need to do that,” I mumble and scurry past him to the laundry room. Standing over the washer, I take a moment to gather the emotions ricocheting around inside my body.

  “Do you want to throw your clothes in with mine?” Can I feel any more awkward?

  “No. The sand will ruin your washer.”

  Sand?

  I hear the squeak of the front door, the rustling of bags, an opening cabinet, and the chinking of plates. I walk into the kitchen to find Roy placing plastic containers on the table. “How did—”

  “I made a call while I was in the bath.” He’s found the corkscrew Vincent bought for when he drinks wine at my house, grabs a bottle of white wine, and expertly extracts the cork. “Glasses?”

  Roy’s changed into faded jeans and a white oxford shirt, left untucked, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

  “You shouldn’t have. I was going to make something.” What, I don’t know, but I had good intentions.

  “We’re both tired. This way we can relax and talk.”

  “Will this do?” I pull out a wine glass—again, something Vincent brought over—along with silverware. He nods, and I place everything on the table and help him open the containers.

  “Didn’t know what you’d like, so I ordered a variety.” He pulls a box from the bag. “And these.”

  “Cinnamon rolls.” I could hug him.

  “Thought that would make you happy.”

  “But you hate them.” Funny how something small can mean so much. “Here.” I nudge him out of the way. “Tell me what you want. You shouldn’t be moving that shoulder around.”

  He doesn’t protest, but points to the steak and steamed vegetables.

  “I can cut it up for you.”

  “Thank you, but I’m not an invalid yet. Do you want wine?”

  “I don’t drink,” I say, more firmly than I mean. “How’s it feeling?”

  “Sore.” He slowly rolls his shoulder. “The bath helped.”

  My face burns crimson at remembering how his body slid into the hot water, his biceps bulging, along with other things. “Your pills,” I stammer. “I was supposed to give you one.”

  “Already done.” He shakes the bottle.

  “Oh no, not those, Scott gave me another bottle before he left.”

  “Those are pain pills. I don’t need them.”

  I need to apologize, but can’t figure out how to do it. “Look, I shouldn’t have barged in on you like that.”

  “I wished you’d stayed.” He runs his tongue over his lower lip and tilts his head back slightly. “Now, eat your junk food.”

  Bossy Roy is back. “It’s not junk food. It’s comfort food; there is a difference.” His smirk annoys me like a pebble in my shoe. “You don’t need to tell me when and what to eat. I’m an adult, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “Oh, I’ve noticed.” He slices through his steak. “I’m painfully aware of your status as a woman.”

  And like the flick of a switch, my indignation is gone, and my curiosity about what he thinks about my womanhood lights up my frontal lobe.

  He leans back and takes a sip of wine. “When you asked me to spend the night, I assumed it was because you felt the same intense attraction I do.” He runs his thumb over his lower lip. “You do confound me, though.” His gaze blazes a trail from my eyes to my mouth. “I know exactly what your body wants, but with you, I have no idea what you’re thinking.”

  I willfully ignore the first part of his sentence. “And you usually know what people are thinking?”

  “With women, yes.”

  Arrogant much? Knowing it's not a good idea, but unable to stop myself, I ask, “How could you possibly know what women think?”

  He leans forward and uses his index finger to trace an invisible line from my elbow to my wrist. “Why don’t you let me show you?”

  I want to say something witty and put him in his place, but my body is on fire. “Wouldn’t be a good idea.”

  He narrows his eyes at me as he leans back.

  “Why did Jason send me the earrings?”

  He goes back to eating his steak. “He’s on the eighth step of the twelve-step program.”

  I grab a Coke from the fridge. “Okay, what does that have to do with earrings?”

  “It’s when addicts call everyone they’ve hurt and apologize. A form of recovery.�
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  “That must be some list.” I grab a few more napkins before sitting down.

  He’s finished his steak and moved on to the vegetables. “I had a chat with him. He said his assistant made a mistake. That’s fucking bullshit, of course.”

  I unwind my cinnamon roll and pop a section into my mouth. “Maybe he is sorry.”

  Roy’s large hand forms a tight fist. “No. He’s not capable of that emotion. The only thing he’s sorry for is losing.”

  “What did he lose?”

  “He wanted you. You said no. He doesn’t take no for an answer.”

  The thought of Jason King gives me chills. If he were ever to corner me again, I’d be the butterfly and he’d be the mean child pulling off my wings. I force myself to think of something else. “Did you send the daisies?”

  His eyes crinkle at the edges. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

  Why didn’t he call? “Let me get you more wine.” I pop up, but he reaches for my hand and pulls me into his side before I can pass.

  “What happened to you?”

  “You know,” I respond, afraid of what he actually means.

  Gently he pulls me in until I’m sitting on his knee with his hand against my back. “I know what happened with Jason. There’s something else though, something before, something you’re trying to hide.”

  I work hard to keep my face impassive. “Nothing.”

  “Your reaction to Jason was…unusual, and, afterward, it was like you compartmentalized the experience.”

  “Look, I don’t want to talk about this.” I spring up and grab my plate, placing it in the sink.

  He stands behind me, so when I turn we’re face-to-face. His stance appears relaxed, but I know underneath he’s coiled and ready to strike. “It drives me crazy not knowing what’s going on behind those extraordinary blue eyes of yours.”

  I shake my head. “They’re plain.”

  “You’re beautiful.” He runs his hand up and down my arm. “I’d like to make a deal with you.”

  What could he possibly want from me? “I’m waiting,” I say with as much sass as I can muster.

  He drains the glass of wine and places it back on the counter. “I will answer your questions truthfully if you do the same.”