In the Echo of this Ghost Town

by CL Walters

  Max is in the kitchen, unloading a weekend menu into the small refrigerator and looks up when she hears me. “You planning on coming inside or just taking up space in the doorway?”

  I look down at my shoes, the toes at the threshold, then back at her.

  She walks across the room to me and stops just close enough that I could just lean to kiss her.

  “I want you to know,” I start, “I don’t have, like, expectations. I mean, I have hopes, but I don’t want you to feel–”

  She puts her fingers against my lips. “Stop,” she says gently. “Griffin.” My name is quiet, and she takes my hand. “This is about us, whatever that means. Let’s not worry, okay?”

  I nod and smile under her hand.

  “One moment at a time.” She smiles and then rubs her arms. “Would you build a fire?” Her smile and eyebrows shift with the innuendo.

  I step across the threshold into the cabin and kiss her cheek. “Yes. I’ll do that for you.” While she finishes the job she started in the kitchen, I start a literal fire.

  We explore the cabin. A bathroom, bedroom, and sun porch down the hallway from the kitchen. Up the stairs, another bedroom with bunk beds, a third bedroom with a queen and a bathroom.

  “This one?” she asks me with a smile.

  “Unless you want the one with the bunk beds. I get the bottom if you do,” I say.

  She takes the bag she’s carrying and drops it in the room with the queen, then takes my bag and sets it next to hers. “Technically,” she says and turns to look at me. “We’ve already slept together. Several times.”

  My heart speeds up, and I step into the room with an urgent need to kiss her. “True.”

  “And showered together.”

  I swallow, recalling that memory, and nod.

  She takes a step closer to me. “I need this out of my system, or I’m going to be a nervous wreck.” She reaches for me.

  I feel a tingle and the weight of her fingertips against my shoulder blades. I reach out and smooth her silky hair that doesn’t need it. I just want to feel her, reassure myself she’s here. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

  She nods and meets my gaze. “Yes.” She leans forward and kisses me. “You?”

  “God, yes.”

  Kissing her is like coming home. Like comfort food and joy. It’s like feelings wrapped up in a box for Christmas and tied with a ribbon. I kiss her, wanting her to know that, because in all the times I’ve kissed and been kissed, it hasn’t ever felt like this. So important, and in that moment, I realize it’s because I love her. I love Max Wallace, and maybe I’ve loved her for a long time and didn’t understand it until just now.

  The thought terrifies me.

  I told Tanner one time that loving a girl was just a way to let her have power over you, to be pussy whipped and to lose your independence. When I think about it, however, it doesn’t feel like that with Max, and maybe my claim was just wrapped up in misconception and ideology I didn’t really understand. Kissing her, talking with her, being with her feels like a missing piece of a puzzle being discovered. Understanding that makes my heart expand in my chest, and I kiss her more deeply.

  Our kisses become hot and burdened. We unburden one another. Max removes my sweatshirt. I help her with her sweater. She helps pull the t-shirt over my head. What started slow begins to move with frenzy. There are words, names, breathy sounds, moans, and hands. Everywhere. Skin to skin as we shed the rest of our clothing.

  “Max. You’re so beautiful,” I tell her, my hands skimming over her skin, touching her, stroking her. She writhes under me, and I’m wound up. I can feel it under my skin. “I’m not going to last, Max,” I tell her even as I’m putting on the condom.

  “Please, Griffin. I want you,” she says, grasps my hips, and draws me into her.

  And my body both tightens and releases.

  Done. Too fast.

  “Oh shit,” I breathe and drop my head forward onto her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Max. I’m so fucking sorry.” I’m embarrassed and feel the protective walls come up. I know how it should be to be better than that. It was bad for her, and I’m pretty sure she’s going to be so disappointed. I’m fucking disappointed. She’s going to think being with me is horrible. The economy car.

  I slip off her and onto my belly next to her. “I’m sorry, Max.”

  “Sorry about what? What is it?” She rolls toward me.

  “It felt like my first time.” I press my face into my arm to hide.

  She giggles.

  I turn my head, annoyed, and look at her with one eye. “Please don’t laugh.”

  She tries to straighten her face but fights with her smile. “I’m not laughing AT you,” she says. “I promise. It’s the situation.”

  I sigh and shake my head, returning to hide in the darkness against my arm. “You make me crazy.”

  “In a good way, I hope.”

  I grunt at her. “Sometimes.”

  She pinches my arm. “Hey.”

  I emerge from my hiding place and peek at her. “I feel bad, okay? And stupid. So please don’t make fun. Now, we’ll only remember our first time wasn’t good.”

  She scrunches up her eyes and nose. “What are you talking about? That was fun, and I distinctly remember our first time being together was in my dorm room. We did a lot in my dorm room.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “And that was pretty awesome.”

  I can’t help but grin at her and the memory. I look away, my chin resting on my arm.

  “We may not have done the whole penetration stuff, but isn’t that still sex?” Her fingers are in my hair, and she twirls the locks.

  “Yeah. I just–” I clamp my mouth shut. I don’t know what to say. I’m afraid to tell her what’s on my mind. Like letting go so soon, what will she think of me? “I wanted it to be special.”

  “Every time I’m with you feels special.” She scoots closer, her gorgeous boob presses against my arm, and her leg drapes over my backside. She tugs me against her. “Talk to me, Griffin.”

  I lean up onto my elbows. Staring at the headboard feels safer. “You make me feel stuff, and I haven’t felt like this before, so I just got wound up. All those make out sessions. Fuck, Max.” I finally look at her. She’s watching me. Waiting. “I’m crazy about you, and now, I’m afraid you’ll think I’ll always be that bad.”

  “First, it wasn’t bad. It was just…quick.” She giggles.

  I roll my eyes and scoff.

  “Second, I’m figuring that wasn’t the last time, so we’ll get another go at it.” She smiles.

  “I sure hope so.” I smile, and look down at the light, green pillowcase.

  She runs a hand down my spine, skimming my skin and sending a warm message to my nerve endings. “And three, feel what?”

  With my chin on my shoulder, I study her. Telling her how I feel is a risk, but I think about all the ways I’ve insulated myself all these years and where it got me. What I told Tanner was a lie because it was meant to be tough and in control, but it isn’t a truth. I think about what happened the last time I didn’t trust her with my feelings and how that pushed her away, and this is one of those things that I will have to trust her with even if it means I could hurt. “I’m not sure how to say it.”

  “You’re making me nervous,” she says. Her hand continues its repetitive journey back and forth over my skin. “Just say it.”

  I turn toward her and reach out, exposing my heart, putting my hand on the swell of her hip, and pulling her closer. “I love you. There. I love you.”

  That beautiful smile I love so much, the one with the dimple, graces her face. She moves, pressing my back onto the bed, and climbs on top of me. “You do?” She kisses my mouth, then pulls away. “Because I love you, Griffin. I’ve wanted to tell you for so long, but I didn’t want to scare you away.” She kisses me on the mouth, then pulls away again. “You love me. You love me,” she sings, and it makes my heart sing along with her. She loves me. She loves me.


  “Let’s go get something to eat.” She climbs from the bed, shrugs into my sweatshirt.

  “Now?” I ask.

  “Yeah.” She grins at me. “We’ve got time.” She leans forward and kisses me again. “No need to rush.” Then she holds out her hand to help me up.

  I slip back into my jeans and t-shirt and follow her down the stairs.

  The fire has warmed the cabin, and it’s cozy. Being there with her is domestic and hints at the way we are together, at least in the magic of our newness, and I wonder if that fades. It did for Mom and Bill, but then Mom said she’d felt it in her gut long before she ended it. I don’t feel like that with Max at all and decide not to worry about it now. I choose to be present and not to let what happened earlier hover around me. I want just to be here.

  We make a sandwich and share it.

  We laugh.

  We dream.

  We sit on the couch by the fire.

  We talk.

  Max has decided that she wants to major in business.

  I tell her that after giving school a chance, I don’t like it, but I love working for Cal. I love building and think that’s what I want to do.

  We talk about parenthood, and I share my fears about fatherhood.

  We make plans that include one another.

  I feel full of her, of the moment, of us.

  “You think it’s dangerous to be too happy?” I ask her.

  “Why?”

  I shrug. “I’m not used to feeling like this.” I get up and add another log to the fire. “I’m used to doubt, hurt, and anger.”

  She watches me and tucks her bare legs under her. “Maybe we train ourselves how to feel.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Like if you’re used to being angry, that’s the norm, so that’s how you usually feel. Or sad.”

  “Or happy?” I ponder it. “Maybe. But when something goes wrong, you aren’t happy.”

  “No. No one is happy when something goes wrong.”

  “Like when we got in our fight.”

  She looks at me. “Yeah. Like then. But that doesn’t mean you can’t find it again.”

  I return to the couch and sit next to her. “Do you feel happy?”

  “Everyday.” She unfolds her body and leans toward me. “But I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.”

  “I think we would make people gag at how happy we are.” I smile at her and lean forward to kiss her.

  She laughs under my mouth. “Definitely.”

  We kiss, the fire is warm, but the heat between us, warmer.

  “I’m so happy to be here,” she says into my mouth.

  I smile, laughing. “Me too. Me too. Me too.” With each repetition, I kiss her until she’s on her back on the couch, and my hips are now sheltered between her legs.

  “I guess that means you won’t be able to get rid of me.” She smiles.

  “I don’t want to,” I say, grasping her hips and settling in deeper. I kiss her.

  She returns the kiss.

  When the kissing and touching becomes more focused and desperate, when we’ve shed our skin of all the layers between us, I use my body to speak to her exactly as I need it to. Her body answers fluently. Together. And this time, it’s perfect.

  * * *

  1

  “She’s pretty,” Cal says from the doorway of the workshop. His back to me, he’s got one hand in the pocket of his jeans and the other wrapped around a coffee mug. It’s a crisp April morning, a Saturday. The sun isn’t high yet, and the frost is still sparkling on things trying to turn green.

  I stand up straight, after placing some stray tools in the container, then join him.

  He’s staring at the house.

  He’s right.

  Nine months ago, the house looked like the wind was going to blow it over. Now it looks brand new. New wood. New wiring and plumbing. New drywall and flooring. Kitchens and bathrooms redone. New windows. New siding. New paint. New roof. All that new mixed with the old bones and sinew of a house built to hold onto new memories. All those months ago, it had just been a broken-down house. Now, it’s a home. His and Max’s.

  He sips his coffee. “I’m never going to recuperate that money.” He sighs and looks at me, barely turning his head.

  “Maybe it isn’t about the money, though.”

  He sips from his cup. “Of course it isn’t. I’ve just spent a lot of years flipping houses, Griffin.” He looks at me. “It’s always been about the money.”

  I nod at the house. “But this one isn’t a flip. You built Max a home.”

  He hums and stares at the house again. Then he nods and turns away from the doorway, smiling as his steps echo against the old wood. “We built it. She’s happy we’re staying.”

  “She is.” And I am too, but I keep this to myself.

  “Ready to help me redo this building?”

  “Yep,” I tell him and continue going through things. We’ve just started working on the workshop, using nights and weekends when I’m here and not with Max. We’ve both been busy with other projects. With the house done and Cal deciding to make it his and Max’s home, he’s shifted from being an on-call fix-it guy to taking on clients wanting their own fixer uppers. I’ve agreed to help him, so he can keep teaching me, but for a steady income I took a job with Tanner’s dad.

  “How do you like working for that James fella?” Cal asks.

  “It’s good. He’s fair.”

  “He called me. Needs an experienced finished carpenter. Seems someone might have told him about me.”

  I just smile. “You going to take it?”

  “I’ll bid to him like a subcontractor.”

  I nod and watch him crouch down to look at some junk we pulled from the rafter space in the workshop.

  “I’m proud of you, Griffin,” he says and picks up a nice board. He looks at the grain. “This is a keeper,” he says and sets it in the pile we’ve started for the stuff to keep and store while we renovate. He returns to the pile.

  “Sir?”

  “That day you showed up for the job.” He chuckles. “I thought I’d lose you after that first hard day, when I had you pulling down that porch. You looked ready to run. No tools. No gloves.” He laughs now. “Wasn’t sure you’d last.”

  I smile and shake my head, embarrassed. It’s difficult to hear and accept positive things when the negative ones are easier to believe. I’m working on it.

  “But you stuck it out. Says a lot about you. When I can afford it, I’m going to steal you away from that James outfit.” He offers me a smile. “Put you on the payroll. You’re a hard worker.”

  Happy with his approval, I return to my task.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket. I hope it’s Max. Since she’s been back at school, I miss her and look forward to our check ins. We’ve been making the distance work. This weekend she had a big project—finals are soon—so I stayed home.

  Plus, it’s time to start thinking about those final projects around Bella’s house that Tanner and Phoenix are going to help me with before the baby arrives. She’s seven months along, almost eight.

  Bella’s name is in my notification.

  I swipe to open my phone:

  Bella: Something’s wrong. Going to the hospital.

  My heart suspends as the rest of me free falls. I text her back: What’s wrong?

  But she doesn’t answer.

  I dial her, and it rings through to her voice mail. I hang up.

  “Cal,” I say. I can hear the worry in my voice, but I take a deep breath, willing myself not to freak out. I wave the phone at him. “Bella texted. She’s on her way to the hospital. She thinks something might be wrong.”

  “Go. Go.” He swipes his hands in a motion toward the door, follows me out, and watches me from the driveway as I drive away.

  The moment I rush into the emergency waiting room, Bella’s little sister, CeCe jumps up. “Griffin.” She rushes into my arms, trembling. The little girl clings to my waist
; I pat her back and crouch down to be able to see her. “Bella was crying. And there was blood.” She whispers the last word, traumatized. Her eyes are wide with panic. “Is she going to be okay?”

  My heart, which has been beating in my throat, tightens with terror.

  I glance around looking for Bella’s mom. She isn’t there, but a lady is with CeCe I’ve never met. She introduces herself as Aunt Tina. The information isn’t sticking. My brain and body are in emergency mode.

  “Can I go back?” I ask, still holding onto Bella’s little sister. I lean to look at her. “I’m going to check on Bella, okay?”

  The aunt draws CeCe from me and back to the seats in the waiting area.

  I find the phone near the heavy, wide doors separating the waiting room from the emergency room and call beyond them. Someone answers it: “ER Nurse’s Station.”

  “I’m here for Bella Noble.”

  “Are you family?”

  “No.”

  “I’m sorry, but–”

  “I’m the baby’s father,” I say, cutting off whoever is on the other line. “She contacted me.”

  “Are you her legal spouse?”

  “No.”

  “Hold on, please.”

  There’s a click, and the line goes dead.

  I hang up the phone but lean against the wall near it.

  If I’d been trying to hold myself together, now I’m panicked. Adrenaline rushes through me, and I cross my arms over my chest, wishing I’d grabbed a sweatshirt from the backseat of my car.

  I pace. Every second feels like an eternity.

  I pick up the phone again. I’m told to wait again. “I want to come back,” I say.

  “Sir. I need you to hang on. We need to figure out what’s happening, then someone will come find you.”

  I don’t know how long I stand near that phone in front of those doors. Long enough to watch them open and straighten in anticipation that whoever is coming out of them represents news and a ticket back. Long enough to watch several people come and go. Long enough to lean against the wall because my legs have grown tired, arms crossed tightly over my chest. I could go get a sweatshirt, but I don’t want to leave in case someone comes for me. I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t want to worry anyone, but the longer I’m there, the more worried I become. The more alone I feel.