My mind protests. It’s begging me to protect myself. When he coaxes my mouth open and sweeps his searing hot tongue across mine, my frustration fades. How can I stop when I’m so love-starved? And when we’re entangled, I’m spellbound by his touch.
He lifts me. My legs wrap round his hips, and he pins me against the wall of our building. He presses into me, his hardness thrusts between my legs, connecting with my spot. Even with clothing between us, I grind into him, recalling how he filled me. A haze of ecstasy blooms behind my eyes as I clench him close and nibble on his ear, making him moan.
“Jesus, Cait.” His voice is husky and eyelids heavy. His dark lashes stick together in thick points, like dripping starfish. Water rivulets stream down face in gather between his swollen lips. I lean in to suck the pooling salty water between them. He responds by tugging my lip with his teeth. Greedy for a repeat of our one night, my hands slide under his shirt and trace the muscular ridges of back.
A car drives past. Its headlights blind me, and I have a flash of brief sanity. I remember why I swore him off to begin with. My whispers fight to wrestle their way to the forefront of my mind. This is a bad idea. If I’m with Evan, I’ll have to let him in, but it’s about more than that.
I release him from my grip and unhook my legs. I slide away until my feet are planted on the ground. I press my hand into his chest, holding him at arm’s length.
“What?” His shoulders rise and fall with his ragged breath. His eyes are glazed with desire. He presses forward, but I hold him firmly in place.
“I can’t.” Each time a raindrop hits my eyes, I blink and the veil of lust slips away.
“You could have fooled me.” With a grin he stares at my wet top. It’s clear from my hardened nipples I’m turned on. He reaches for me again, unwilling to relent, and I grab both his hands, stopping them. This time he retracts like I’ve slapped him again.
I turn away to rally myself. He watches, waiting. Ignoring the rain, I focus on forming a coherent sentence, or anything that will makes sense. My anger builds again at recalling everything that’s happened. It’s the only thing that will get me through this.
“You disappear right after we sleep together and all of the sudden you want me again because you’re jealous of James? A client? What the fuck, Evan? Is this a game to you?”
“If you weren’t trying to make me jealous, why did you bring him home? And what about the red suit? The no panties? And breaking your own shower? Who’s playing games now?” His voice rises to meet mine.
“I did not break my own shower!” I stomp my foot. “Everything I do isn’t about you. And you believing it is, is exactly why you’re an asshole.”
He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even bother to defend himself. He glances away as though he can see something between us I can’t. I wish I could see it too, because under the glow of the floodlight he’s achingly gorgeous, but right now I hate him for making me want him. I hate him more for making me give him up a second time.
My arms flap in the rain with frustration and I continue, spilling more secrets than I intend. “You know, you were right from the beginning. Somehow you know me better than I know myself. The truth is I can’t handle one night with you, because I’ve been dreaming about you nonstop. If we do this again, it’ll wreck me, and that’s exactly why I’m done.”
CHAPTER 25
Wet footsteps trail me as I climb the stairs. Water rolls down my arms, dripping from my fingertips. My shoes squish as forming blisters burn and rub at my heels. All the while my heart’s breaking for the second time after.
At the top landing, Mr. Gusterson stands in his bathrobe watching me. He’s a human pigpen, smelly and unkempt, clawing at a bag of Garrett Popcorn before tossing pieces into his open mouth. He chews too loud, and with each crunch my shoulder ticks.
“What are you looking at?” I snap and stomp past.
“Cable’s out. Thank God for you two.” Through his nose, he chuckles in a low, raspy tone.
The sound grates on my nerves, causing my back to straighten. I pause with my hand on my doorknob, considering a comeback worthy of his jab, but I’ve never been good at these things. Not to my knowledge, anyway. Maybe it’s because I’m an only child. Or maybe, I’m tired of fighting. Whatever the reason, I compose myself, take a deep breath, and open my door. When I’m inside, I can’t help slamming it shut. Maybe he’ll get the message: show’s over!
I kick off my shoes and peel drenched clothing from my skin before dropping them in a soggy pile at my feet. With the sopped stack gathered in my arms, I head down the hall. In the doorway of the bathroom I halt at the sight of what’s sitting on top of the vanity. A gift. A new set of fluffy white towels wrapped with a Tiffany-colored ribbon. The house keys Evan stole from Aggie sit on top.
I squeeze my laundry. Cold water releases and dribbles down my bare stomach and naked legs. For now, I toss the clothes in the tub before I turn to face the gift. I circle it, unwilling to touch it right away. My instinct is to take the stack to the window and launch it out front so Evan finds them scattered across his planter tomorrow. I still may do that, but I can’t help but swipe the card to read it first. Maybe he’ll say the perfect thing so I won’t hate him anymore.
Replacements for your grandmother’s ugly towels. —E
***
Ozzy’s seated in a wheelchair on the sidewalk, waiting for me when I arrive by taxi. The car stops in front of his building near the handicap ramp. I pop open the passenger door, and a medical aid helps him stand and guides him into the backseat.
“Don’t you look nice,” I offer, admiring his pageboy hat.
“It’s not often I have a date.” He adjusts his dapper wool coat, appearing pleased with himself. He grabs my hand, and I squeeze it tight. Today’s a big day. I think he’s nervous too.
The passenger door slams. The taxi zooms off and ten minutes later we’re parking in front of Ozzy’s home. After some finagling, we’re standing before it, him leaning against his cane, and I holding on to him. I find myself smiling, but when I look to Ozzy, a sad breath escapes his pursed lips. His weight sinks into me.
“Everything okay? We can do this another day.” I clutch him tighter, giving him more support.
“When Ada and I lived here, ivy crept along that picket fence. Peonies wrapped a wooden trellis that stood over there.” He juts his chin to the side yard. “And beneath the windows, she planted the most beautiful cornflower-blue hydrangeas I’d ever seen. The blooms were as big as watermelons. It might have been the smallest house on the street, but it was always the prettiest and happiest.”
He tsks. “Not much to look at now, is it?”
He taps his cane as he shuffles. Step, step, tap. Step, step, tap. At the door, he pulls the keys from his pocket and hands them over. I unlock and push open the door. It swings wide with a loud whine. The smell of stale air hits me, and I wince. I turn my head away and cough. Ozzy does the same. I help him inside.
“I’ll open some windows to let in some fresh air.” I leave him sitting in a metal fold-out chair in the living room.
Though I register Ozzy’s disappointment, I can’t help my own excitement. It’s the first time I’ve ever been inside the home. Yes, the yard’s overgrown, the rooms dusty, and the kitchen and baths are outdated, but it’s everything I’d hoped for.
Beneath the years of neglect sleep beautiful thick moldings, art deco tiles, a marble fireplace, chair railings, and bead boarding. Everything’s original and begging to be restored. When I imagined it in my mind, it looked exactly like this, down to the old farmhouse sink. It’s as though I was psychic, and it was meant to be.
It takes some work, but I manage to crack open two windows and prop the back door wide with a brick I found in the side yard. With the cool breeze blowing through, the house is already airing out. When I return to Ozzy, he’s slumped in chair, both hands steady on his cane. Slow tears stream down his dark cheeks.
“Ozzy?” I rush to him. He glance
s at me, and I find his cheeks shiny and wet. He removes a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wipes his eyes.
“Breaks my heart to see it like this.” When he admits this, my own heart aches. What must it feel like for him to return home after all these years and find it so different than he remembered?
“It’s still beautiful, just needs a little TLC.”
“Ada would be disappointed.” He shakes his head.
“She knows you’re doing the best you can.” When I hug him, his shoulders bobble beneath my touch. I draw back and crouch beside him. I keep a hand on his arm, rubbing the length.
“I’ve been greedy holding on to it. I did it believing she was part of this house, that our life together was this house. I tried to let it go a few years back, but it felt like I was giving Ada away. But her spirit isn’t here; I can see that now.”
“Maybe it’s because she’s been inside here all along.” I place my hand over his heart. “And in here.” I touch the side of his head.
I continue, “Those are the only places she needs to be—with you.”
His teary eyes widen. “How’d you get so smart?”
“Must be from talking to you.”
He returns my smile. The ruddiness of his skin fades with his lifting mood.
“I have an idea, why don’t you show me around and tell me how it used to look? I want to know everything.” I hold out my arm. He latches on and stands with a grunt.
Room by room we waddle through the living room, dining room, small kitchen, enclosed screened porch, two baths, and three small bedrooms. He shares stories about how Ada called him potato-head when she was mad at him for not taking out the trash, where he hid her Christmas gifts, and that they stashed a time capsule in the walls, but he won’t reveal where. Inside this tiny home was seventy years of love and laughter.
In hearing him regale the stories of his life, my lonely half wishes for a love so deep, like Ozzy and Ada’s, that despite everything, I would never let go. It’s too late for me now, but if it happened before, maybe my life would be different today.
CHAPTER 26
“Ozzy agreed to sell you the house?” Aggs sits on the sofa next to me; her position mirrors mine. Her legs are folded beneath her, and she’s hovering over a plate of food. A hand holding a fork hangs midair, while several strings of spaghetti link from her plate, to her fork, to her mouth.
“I can barely believe it myself. As soon as Lakeman signs the deal, I’ll draw up the papers.”
I’m so close to my goal, I’m giddy. My head bobs to the pop music we have playing in the background as I slurp my pasta. Red sauce splatters my cheeks. I’m carb building for tomorrow’s marathon. It’s another personal goal I’ve been working toward.
“So when can I see my room?” She sets her plate aside and wipes a napkin across her face.
“Absolutely not,” I say with a full mouth.
“Why must you force me to break into your place? You know I love sleeping in your bed while you’re out.”
I know she’s kidding, or I hope she is. I glance at the ceiling, recalling every time I returned home to a messy bed when I was positive I had made it that morning. I thought I was overworked and losing what was left of my mind. But in reality, I was getting punked by Aggie. I concentrate my gaze on her as she continues.
“Just remember who saved your ass the other day with my spare key. You owe me, Cait.”
“But if we lived together, you wouldn’t need to break in. You’d have your own key, not a secret one. Wouldn’t it take all the fun away?” I try reverse psychology. Yes, I want to be free like Aggie, but not live with her. This is where I draw the line.
“Hmm.” She ponders with a squished face and then concludes, “I hate when you’re right.”
Knock, knock, knock.
My attention swings toward the sound. I swallow what’s in my mouth and pause at the following uncomfortable silence. Even the music has stopped. My gut rolls, but there’s no sense in pretending we aren’t here. They’ll have already heard Aggie’s loud mouth.
“I’ll get it.” Aggie saves me by circling the sofa and darting across the room. But when she swings the door open, no one’s there. She swoops down and lifts a cardboard box from the hallway’s floor. She turns it around in her hands and reads the return label.
“Looks like it’s from Maryland.” She glances at me.
I choke in surprise, having to cough a few times to clear my throat. The emails. The calls. And now this?
“Oh, don’t freak out. It’s probably just from your parents or something.”
I hurl an inquiring glance in her direction. I never revealed where they lived. I’ve never even talked about them before, much less acted like they existed.
“Okay, so I know how to use Google. I stalked you online a little bit.” She huffs and continues, “All right, all right, I stalked you a lot. Okay? And I may have chatted with your cousin Samantha on Facebook.”
“Aggie,” I whine. There’s a pillow in my grasp, and I’m unsure if I want to nail her in the head with it or shrink to the size of an ant and hide beneath it. I toss it aside and stand when she closes the door with her foot and crosses to the kitchen. She settles the box on the counter and continues with her squeaky fast-talk.
“She was really cool, well, mostly weird, especially that blue tattoo covering her face. Seriously, she kind of scares the bejesus out of me. How are you related? The good news is she told me what I needed to know. Doesn’t matter. I’ll continue to pretend I know nothing until you’re ready to talk about it. It’s fine. I’m fine with it. Okay? Okay.” She releases an exaggerated breath. I can tell she was nervous to confess but now that it’s out, I release my own pent-up breath and cross the room.
“Really?” I ask. When she nods I give her a hug, squeezing her tiny frame. She grabs my hands in hers when I withdraw.
“What happened to you sucks Transformer balls, and I get why you aren’t exactly eager to talk about it.”
“Thank you.” My eyes water. I find unexpected relief in the fact that she knows, and she’s not freaking out about it. She’s not even looking at me the way everyone else does when they find out. That awful pity face. In fact, she looks—intrigued? She releases my hands.
“Can you show me your scars? I bet they’re kick ass.” She playfully lifts my T-shirt, but I smack her hand away.
“We’ll see, stalker.” I laugh.
Aggie finds a knife in a drawer and returns. The blade gleams shiny and silver under the lights. Before she stabs at the taped seam on the box she says, “You want the honors?”
“Can I really tell you to back off when you have a knife in your hand?”
“Good call. It might get bloody.” She waves it around victoriously before plunging her sword into the binding tape. She saws at the seam, from right to left, and the top snaps open. She sets the knife aside, spreads the flaps, reaches inside, and removes a curious item. She pinches her brows tight.
“An old sock turned inside out?” She looks at me for verification. I lift my hands and shrug. I have no explanation. She accepts this, but then proceeds to smell it. She scrunches her face in disgust. “It reeks.”
She tosses it aside.
“Let me see this.”
I slide the box closer. Tipping it forward, I peer in. It’s filled with things I’ve never seen. Regardless, I understand what this is. I moan with irritation as I riffle through the random contents.
By giving me mementos, my parents hope I’ll find something of myself in them. That looking, touching, and holding them will trigger old memories. They’ve tried this before, several times. It’s an old tactic that never works. Acting disinterested, I close the box and shove it away. I return to the couch and pick up my dinner. It’s turning cold, and I need to eat another plate of carbs before the night it over.
“Really? A random box of crap appears and you have nothing to say?”
“You were right; it’s from my parents. They want me to re
member.” I take a heaping bite of spaghetti and chew.
She appears disappointed. This strangely unnerves her. Or this proves she’s normal, because no one can learn about my medical condition without offering a suggestion to make it better. It might be human nature, but it’s annoying.
Aggie’s slapping cabinets, open and closed looking for something. Her mind seems to have flip-flopped to a new topic, which is fine by me. But a few moments later, I halt mid-chew when she asks, “Where are my Milano cookies?”
CHAPTER 27
To make amends, I promise Aggie five new bags of cookies. She argues for ten, plus I have to join her and Lou on the next three outings—no excuses. Though it makes me nervous, I give in. I owe these two, and the more I know them, the more I find myself enjoying their company. Maybe it could be my new goal, to widen my walls and invite them in. After tonight and her response to my past, I have hope.
After Aggie leaves, I pick up the cardboard box and carry it to my room. I place it on my bed, bite at my nail, and stare at it. I should leave this alone, considering how early I must wake for the race, but I’ve been questioning the contents every since I saw them. I feigned disinterest for Aggie’s sake, because this is something I need to do myself.
Still unsure of my course, I turn away to ready myself for bed. I change into my pajamas but can’t help but stare at the box. I brush my teeth while staring at the box. I do three sets of jumping jacks and stare at the damn box.
I release a frustrated groan and climb into the center of the bed. The mattress dips beneath my knees as I settle. With legs crossed, I tug the box close, flip open the top, and peek inside. Looking at the items arranged on the bottom, they’re no less perplexing.
I remove each mystery item and spread them out before me. It’s easier this way—to inspect them without anyone watching and asking questions.
“You don’t recognize that?” My parents would be appalled when I didn’t give them a reason for an item’s importance. “Your grandmother left you those earrings. You won that trophy for long-distance running in the county finals. That was your favorite stuffed animal in third grade.”
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