by Sarah Ready
I step out of the car and go around to hold the door open for Chloe.
We’re in an upper middle class neighborhood. The type of neighborhood where the houses are elegant, the landscaping’s professional, and flowers are planted for every season. Right now, the theme is orange and red chrysanthemums. Chloe steps out of the car and onto the sidewalk. She’s in a pair of high wedges and her legs look a mile long.
We stop and stare at the tall stately white colonial in front of us. There’s a flag that says “Welcome” on the front porch and ceramic pots with flowers.
“If you like Hallmark Channel towns, this is the place for you,” I say.
“I love the Hallmark Channel,” Chloe says.
Yeah, I kind of figured. She nibbles a bit on her nail, her nervous tic, and then squares her shoulders. “Hi, I’m Chloe. We could be soul mates.”
“Talking to yourself?” I ask.
“Shh. I’m practicing.”
I chuckle.
We climb the front porch steps. There’s a porch swing, some Adirondack chairs and a welcome mat. This place has a lot of charm. Chloe knocks on the glossy red front door. I rock back on my heels and shove my hands into my pockets. No answer. Chloe knocks again. There’s no noise coming from the house.
“I don’t think he’s home,” I say.
“Shh,” says Chloe. “I heard something.” She knocks harder.
“No, he’s not—”
I stop, and a chill runs down my spine.
Chloe whips around.
That was a scream. Someone inside the house screamed.
“Did you hear that?” she asks.
I nod. Chloe’s face goes white. The screaming starts again. Long and shrill, then “Help me! Help me!”
“He’s killing her. My soul mate is killing someone.” Chloe starts pounding on the door with the side of her fist.
There’s loud thuds in the house and it’s possible that a large piece of furniture was knocked over. There’s another scream and another thud.
Chloe spins toward me. “Nick. Open the door. Call the police. Do something.” She kicks the door and pounds it again. She’s frantic.
I shake my head.
“I don’t think we should go in there,” I say. “I don’t think we should interrupt.”
She rounds on me. Her eyes are wild and she looks like she could take me down in a second. “Nick O’Shea, open the freaking door right now. Open it.”
I hold up my hands. “Alright. Whatever you say.”
I try the door. It’s a simple lock that won’t be any trouble to break.
“Hurry up. Can’t you hear her?” Chloe grips my arm and her fingernails dig into my skin.
“You sure?” I ask again.
“Do it.”
I grab a credit card from my wallet and slide it between the doorjamb and the lock.
Fifteen seconds of jimmying and it pops open. The front door swings wide. Chloe pushes around me.
“We’ve called the police…”
Then she focuses on the woman lying at the base of the stairs. It’s gruesome. It’s possibly one of the messiest scenes I’ve ever witnessed.
“Not…not…” Chloe says. She grabs her stomach like she’s going to be sick.
“Now that’s a love bakery.”
The woman who was screaming is covered in melted ice cream, whipped cream, donuts and…girl scout cookies? There’s a man above her with his hairy butt cheeks bared. He whips around.
“Who the hell are you?” he yells.
The woman shrieks and scrambles behind him. The man doesn’t have any problem with us seeing his bits and pieces.
“Matt Smith?” asks Chloe in a dazed tone.
She can’t tear her gaze from the waffle cone held in place by a licorice string covering his…yeah.
I grab Chloe, slowly back out onto the porch, and slam the door after us.
10
Nick
* * *
We’re having hot tea in the kitchen. There are hens and roosters on the border wallpaper and a ticking cuckoo clock on the wall. It just cuckooed twelve.
“Do you take milk?” asks Rachel. She’s all cleaned up and in an orange pant suit.
“No thanks,” I say. I take a sip of the scalding hot black tea from my china cup. It clatters and some tea spills over the edge into the saucer when I set it back down.
All four of us are seated around the kitchen table. Everyone is drinking tea with pinkies in the air, trying with all our might to pretend that the previous meeting didn’t happen. If we act as decorous as the Queen, then clearly none of us saw a waffle cone penis and maraschino cherry nipples.
“I’ll take milk, please,” Chloe says.
Rachel pours milk from the tiny ceramic cow pitcher.
“Thank you,” Chloe says.
“You’re so welcome,” Rachel says.
I swallow another gulp of the tea and wince when it burns my tongue. The man, Ernest, makes a sour face. He has smooth, small hands that fit perfectly with the delicate cup he holds.
“You know my cousin Matthew, then?” he asks.
“Yes,” Chloe says. She clears her throat and sets down her cup. “We drove all the way from New York to see him. We’re very sorry to barge in on you…I mean…um…I’d be so grateful if you could tell us how to find him?”
Ernest gives a short laugh that is somewhat reminiscent of a hen clucking. When he stops he shares a look with Rachel. It’s the kind that’s loaded with three months’ worth of conversation. I take another swallow of the tea. It’s bitter without milk or sugar.
“You see…” Chloe says.
I narrow my eyes. Oh boy. I can tell she’s gearing up for the soul mate line. Her eyes have gone all dreamy and she’s leaning forward earnestly.
“We have a bequest that was left for him,” I say.
Chloe turns sharply to me.
“Oh my,” says Rachel. Her hands flutter and pat the pearls at her throat.
Ernest clucks and shakes his head. “A bequest?”
“From a mutual friend,” I say.
Chloe kicks me under the table. Too bad she’s wearing wedges and cork heels don’t hurt.
“Oh, well, isn’t that wonderful?” says Rachel. “We’ve had so many people skulking around asking after Matthew.”
“Really?” I ask.
She nods. “Unsavory types. Not the type you’d invite to tea.”
“Ah,” I say. I take another sip of tea, just to make sure we’re all on the same page. I, Nick O’Shea, am a man you’d invite to tea.
“Oh, we’d never skulk,” says Chloe. “We just need to find Matthew so he can have his happily ever after. We all deserve our happily ever afters. Don’t you think?” She folds her hands in front of her and her smile is full of hearts and sunbeams.
A sparkling ray of light shines through the window and lands on her pink cheeks. And I swear, birds start to sing.
I glance at Ernest and Rachel and they are eating up this Disney moment.
Unbelievable.
She nailed her delivery.
I cannot freaking believe it.
“Oh that’s wonderful, isn’t that wonderful, sweetums?” says Rachel.
“Sure is, sugarplum,” says Ernest.
“So, you’ll tell us where Matt is?” Chloe asks.
Rachel takes Ernest’s hand and squeezes. Her face softens and she smiles at the both of us. Suddenly, I’ve got a real bad feeling about this.
“Certainly,” says Rachel. She leans forward and Chloe leans in too.
“Where is he?” Chloe asks.
“Not too far,” Rachel says. “Matthew’s in prison.”
11
Chloe
* * *
Matt Smith Number Two, Take Two
* * *
So, it took a little convincing to get Nick to agree to visit the correctional facility where Matt’s being held. Let’s just say, he was not enamored with the idea. But here’s my argument…a soul
mate doesn’t care what’s in a person’s past. They love them in spite of. That’s the deal. In spite of.
If I’m ready to marry a bazillionaire that owns a yacht and a mansion, then I can be ready to marry a guy in prison. That’s how this thing works. You don’t get to choose your fated one. You just get to love them.
Nick got a little cold-eyed and cranky at my reasoning, but he finally agreed. It’s sort of funny, I never used the “in spite of” argument for Nick. I wonder if I’d be able to forgive our past and practice “in spite of” with him? Doesn’t really matter, it’s a moot point.
Anyway, I’m counting on the “in spite of” to work in my favor too. I haven’t had much luck with men loving me all the way, one hundred percent in the past. But with soul mates, they love you in spite of all the flaws you have.
We roll up to the guard booth at the facility. I’ve never been to a prison before. There are two tall fences with barbed wire spaced about ten feet apart surrounding the whole facility. I guess, if a prisoner jumps one they still have another fence to clear. There’s a tall guard tower, sort of like an airport tower. Finally, there’s the prison itself, which depressingly, looks similar to most of the 1950s ugly orange brick schools found all around the U.S.
We provide our IDs and state the reason for our visit. Then a German shepherd sniffs our car. Finally, we’re cleared to pull into the visitor lot. We’re in luck, it’s an approved visiting day and hour.
Maybe it’s a sign from the universe.
“Let me do the talking,” says Nick.
“I’ll be fine,” I say.
Nick’s been all growly and alpha protective on me ever since Rachel and Ernest said Matt’s a convicted criminal. Sure, I freaked out for a millisecond, but if it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be. If not, we’ll move on.
I go to jump out of the car, but Nick holds out his hand. “Sparky, wait.”
I pause and really look at Nick. His jaw clenches as he looks at the entrance to the prison. “This isn’t going to be all hearts and rainbows,” he says. “This guy could be a real psycho.”
“Or a lumberjack,” I say.
He cuts his hand through the air. “This isn’t a joke. We’re at a prison. If you keep on your insane mission to find your soul mate you could get hurt. Not all people have your best interest at heart.” He turns to me and I take in the earnestness of his expression. “Not all people are good, Chloe.”
Wow. He’s really freaked out. I reach out and touch my fingers to the warm skin of his forearm. Slowly, the tension leaves and he relaxes beneath me.
“I’ll let you do the talking,” I say.
He closes his eyes and lets out a long breath. “Thank you.”
“But if he’s my soul mate,” I say.
When he opens his eyes I flinch back. There’s an ache there. A broken, hurting ache. I don’t understand…why should this bother him? He knows what this trip is about, and he knows how it will end.
“Nick?”
He shakes his head and the look in his eyes vanishes. “Let’s get this over with,” he says.
It takes nearly an hour to go through security and check-in. Finally, after two cups of stale vending machine coffee, it’s go time.
Nick and I sit down at one of the metal and Formica-topped tables. I hold my Styrofoam coffee cup in my hand. The room is about the size of a small cafeteria. There are other prisoners talking with their guests. A number of guards watch with jaded eyes. The walls are grayish-green, the floors are light gray gymnasium linoleum, and there’s an instructional poster on the wall. The room smells almost exactly like a school gym.
I shift on the hard seat. Then, the door opens and a stern-faced prison guard escorts in a prisoner.
Matt Smith.
He’s shorter than I imagined. And nicer looking. I mean, he looks friendly. He’s short and has a round boyish face. He studies us with some curiosity, but not much. I reach for that bolt of lightning, or at least for some sort of sign that he’s the one, but nothing happens. Do I feel drawn to him?
Matt notices my eyes running over him. He cocks his head and winks.
“Hey, pretty lady,” Matt says.
Nick stiffens. “Nope,” he says.
“Pshaw,” says Matt.
After he takes a seat he leans back and spreads his legs. It looks like he’s settling in for a long, relaxing chat. Except then he starts cleaning the nail of his pointer finger with this thumbnail. I glance at Nick, and he quirks an eyebrow at me. Yup, Matt Smith is ignoring us.
Nick clears his throat. “You’re Matt Smith?”
“What’s it to you?” Matt doesn’t look up from his nail-cleaning.
Nick stares at me and I can tell what he’s thinking…time to go.
“Hi there, I’m Chloe.”
Matt stops cleaning his nails and looks up at me, then Nick. “Who’s that?” he asks.
What did we say last time?
“My brother,” I say.
“Her boyfriend,” says Nick.
“My brother’s boyfriend—”
“Boyfriend,” says Nick.
Matt nods sagely. “Got one of those, too.”
“Mmmhmm, exactly,” I say.
“We have some questions,” says Nick.
“Nah, man. Not interested.”
Nick turns to me and nods his head toward the door. “Let’s go.”
Clearly, he thinks that this Matt isn’t the one. But I need to be sure.
“Did you ever go to summer camp in New York?” I ask.
Nick gives me his hard stare. I glare back. I’m not going to mention soul mates, jeez.
“Course,” says Matt.
Oh. Wow.
Nick swings back to him. “What did you say?”
Matt shrugs. “Course I did.”
I think Nick’s about to jump over the table and throttle Matt into taking it back. I ignore Nick and lean forward. This is it. My soul mate is here. In prison. Across from me. Right now.
My stomach rolls and I press my hand into it.
“Do you remember its name?” I ask. My voice shakes. I think I’m going to be sick, right here on the ugly Formica table.
“He didn’t go,” says Nick, his lip curls in a sneer. “He’s messing with you.”
“Pshaw,” says Matt. “Am not. Went there every summer, worked on my music.” His face transforms into pure happiness as he starts to hum a tune.
“Oh, you’re an artist,” I say. “Me too.”
“Chloe,” says Nick in a warning tone. But I won’t be prejudiced against Matt. If he’s the one…it’ll all work out. I trust that soul mates are real, and I trust it with my whole heart.
Matt sits up straighter. “That’s right, pretty lady. I had a record deal. Toured the U.S. My band’s waiting for me in LA. They got gigs lined up out the…” He trails off when he sees the expression on Nick’s face.
“So you’re a musician?” I ask. I nod my head and give Matt a big smile. “I love music.”
“Music’s my life, yeah? That’s why prison’s hell.” He looks down at his hands and rubs the pads of his fingers, like he’s feeling for old calluses.
“Why?” I ask.
“Can’t feel the beat here,” he says. He squeezes his hands together and drops them to his lap. “It got taken away.” His boyish face appears older.
I look around the stark, institutional room at the oppressive gray and the heavy weight of the walls. I’ve always believed there’s something to be thankful for, no matter what, but right now, I’m not sure what to say. I imagine how I’d feel if I couldn’t draw or paint anymore.
“The color’s gone,” I say. “All gone.”
Matt takes in the expression on my face. “You get me,” he says.
“What are you here for?” I ask.
“Fraud.”
“What did you say the camp was called?” asks Nick.
I pick up my coffee and take a slow sip.
Matt shrugs. “Eh. I don’t know. Pine s
omething.”
I spray my coffee across the table. It shoots out of my mouth in a violent stream and hits Matt in the face. He jumps back.
Nick swears.
“Sorry,” I say. “Sorry.”
I swipe at the coffee splattered over the table.
“I’m so sorry,” I say again.
Matt wipes at his face. “Nothing wrong with exchanging bodily fluids.”
“No,” says Nick in warning.
A guard moves our way. “Is everything okay, ma’am?”
“Sorry, I accidentally choked on my coffee.”
He nods and moves back toward his station near the door.
“What was the camp called?” I ask. “Pine…”
I stare at Matt. I feel like a deer caught in headlights. There’s an oncoming collision but I can’t look away and I can’t get out of the road.
Matt’s oblivious to my internal freak out.
This is it. He’s probably my soul mate. I look over at Nick. There must be something in my face because his eyes get fierce and his jaw hard. Then he shakes his head and starts to stand. He grabs for my hand and nods to the door.
“Come on. We can go,” he says.
That’s when I realize he’s giving me an out. If I’m too scared or don’t want this, Nick will pull me out of here right now and we’ll both pretend this never happened. For me, he’ll drive back to New York and tell everyone that we checked everywhere but never found my fated one. He’s trying to protect me…but… “I have to do this,” I say.
Nick stiffens and I feel a change come over him. His hand tightens on mine and he studies my expression. “You’re sure?” he asks in a low voice. His two words carry a load of meaning, but I can’t decipher them. What is he asking, exactly?
Matt doesn’t notice. He’s smiling at the ceiling. “I loved those days, man. Good old Pine…Pine…”
I pull my hand from Nick’s. “I’m sure,” I say to him.
A coldness falls over his gaze and he lets me go. He sits down.
“Pine?” he asks.
“Pine River,” Matt says, “In Utica.”
All the anticipation and confusion evaporate. I’m back again, sitting on a hard seat in a prison, with a stranger who shares the name of my soul mate but isn’t mine.