Hoverfly Girl

by Parker Wren

  “Grayson,” I said, looking him in the eyes. “It’s a great idea.”

  He gave me a big smile and kissed me across the table.

  We kissed on our way to the car, and on the stairs up to my apartment. We let the kisses linger, savoring the suspense.

  When we finally got up to my bedroom, I let him undress me in the dark.

  “I could kiss you forever,” he whispered.

  “Why are you whispering?” I whispered loudly. “No one can hear us!”

  Grayson laughed. “Fine,” he said loudly. “I love you, Ariel. And I’m going to spend every day for the rest of my life shouting it to anyone who will listen.”

  I smiled, pulled him close to me, and kissed him deeply.

  EPILOGUE

  EIGHT MONTHS LATER

  I’m not sure what possessed me to go visit.

  Maybe it was just a sense of curiosity, wanting to know what had happened.

  As I pulled up to the prison, I wondered what the women inside had done. I remembered reading something about how many female criminals were involved in crimes with their significant others. Brit obviously fit that mold.

  We sat in the visiting room. She looked the same, and yet entirely different. Her hair had grown out to reveal dark roots, which surprised me, for some odd reason. She had always looked like a natural blonde. Her face was red and raw, as if she had scrubbed it too many times with harsh soap.

  “Hi,” she said, sitting down at the table with her arms crossed.

  “Hi,” I said, uncertain of what to do with my hands.

  “Why are you here?” she asked. Her voice was neutral.

  I wasn’t sure myself, so I gave her the answer that I had thought up on my drive.

  “To see how you are,” I said. “I just…wanted to check in.”

  Brit nodded, uncrossing her arms.

  “I’m not in here too much longer,” she said. “Out early on good behavior and all that.”

  I nodded. I knew that Brit had been sentenced to a year in prison. Her trial hadn’t been televised, but I had read the transcripts.

  “What will you do after?” I asked.

  Brit’s eyes were glazed over, as if she had been asked this a thousand times. “Go live with my mom,” she said. “And then, I have no idea.”

  “I see,” I said.

  Why had I come here? I thought. I didn’t have a slew of unresolved questions that I needed to Brit to answer. I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to hear her opinion on some topics. And yet, still…she intrigued me. I loathed her, but she intrigued me.

  “He wrote to me,” Brit finally said.

  “Who?” I asked.

  Around us, I could see other inmates with their visitors. Most looked like families. Men, children, parents. A low drum of voices surrounded our conversation.

  “Henry,” Brit said. “He apologized. During the trial, you know, he testified.”

  I nodded.

  “He looked pretty torn up about it when he was on the stand,” she continued. “But it didn’t matter, because he lied and put everything on to me. So I couldn’t believe it when he wrote me to apologize. I mean, it wasn’t any kind of apology that could be used against him, but obviously I knew what he meant. He has some sort of crazy fantasy that we might get back together…”

  “Really?” I asked. Part of me wondered if this was true, or if Brit had taken his letters and interpreted them in a way that fit her desired narrative.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I think ever since Nathan died, you know…”

  Nathan, Henry’s brother, had committed suicide after his father was sentenced to over 100 years in prison. No one knew exactly why, but many suspected that he had been involved in the crimes. Whether it was the guilt, shame, and depression or fear of arrest that led him to take his own life, no one was sure. He left behind a wife and two young twin girls.

  “I’m sure that was hard on everyone,” I said, though I wasn’t feeling particularly sorry for most of the Mathesons.

  “I want to talk about you, though,” Brit said. She tried to look at me in the eyes, but I couldn’t meet her icy blue stare.

  “Why?” I asked, incredulous as to why she would be interested in me.

  “Are you dating anyone?” she asked. “How is Grayson? Dom?”

  I shook my head, avoiding her first question. “They’re good. They’re both good.”

  “Is Dom working with Henry, as planned?” she asked. “I heard they were working together. Is that true?”

  I nodded. “Yes,” I said. “They are. But they are working on different projects, so they don’t see each other too much. Dom is incredibly busy. He’ll call me to complain about the workload and not having much free time. But, he’s learning a lot, enjoying Boston.”

  “I hope Henry is fucking miserable,” Brit mumbled.

  I let the comment slide without addressing it.

  “Does Henry know?” I asked Brit. “About Dom.” Dom had been worried about Henry’s knowledge regarding our involvement in Select Recruits, but neither of us knew whether he had figured it out or found out from someone like Brit.

  She shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said. “I never said anything to him.”

  “Okay,” I said. Well, I thought, I least I found out one piece of useful information from the visit, even if Brit wasn’t the most trusted source.

  Brit changed the subject. “And what about you? How is your aunt?”

  “How do you know about my aunt?” I asked, suddenly feeling violated.

  Brit shrugged. “I ask around about you.”

  I let my brief anger regarding her interest in me slip away. It made sense for Brit to track what was going on with me. I had, after all, perhaps played a small role in her ending up in prison. And now that she was behind bars, with her life on pause, it wouldn’t be that surprising for her to follow others’ lives with interest.

  “She’s good,” I finally said, leaving out details of the nausea and fatigue that plagued Sarah. “The treatment is working really well. She had pins put into her hips, so that’s helping with walking. And she’s working full time. Most people she knows don’t even know that she’s sick.”

  “Good,” Brit said, leaning back in her chair.

  Brit asked me more questions, more than she had ever asked me when we were in the Vineyard together. I answered some and avoided others. She didn’t seem to mind. She just wanted to soak it up, even things regarding work. I told her about my recent publication and teaching. I didn’t know how to feel about sharing these things with her. However, I let myself be okay with whatever semblance of connection the conversation was.

  When I turned to leave, Brit reached out to me.

  “No touching, inmate,” a guard to our right growled at her.

  Brit removed her arm.

  “Will you come see me again?” she asked. “Please?”

  I paused, uncertain of what to say. “When I’m in the area, I’ll try to,” I said.

  “Why are you here now?” she asked.

  “I’m flying out the airport,” I said, only providing her with the half-truth. “You’re still a few hours away, but…it’s doable.”

  I wasn’t sure why I was suggesting that I would make an effort to see her again. Maybe I couldn’t let go of her, of what happened, for some unexplained reason.

  THREE DAYS LATER

  I was, somehow, completely relaxed against a smooth, large rock. The rough sand felt cold against my feet, and I heard the harsh waves in the distance.

  I was alone. I slowly raised my torso, squinting into the sun, which was teasing twilight over the horizon.

  There, I saw him. He was out of focus. Walking towards me, his linen pants rolled up to avoid the waves, his battered white shirt hanging from his shoulders. His tall, thin frame came into fuzzy focus, still at a distance, yet I knew it was him.

  My eyes were blinded by the sun, and his face only came into focus right before he leaned over and kissed me. Gorgeous, perfect fac
e of beautiful brown eyes, angles, and lips. I ran my fingers through his dark hair and sighed.

  He sat next to me, and I traced my finger over the line next to Grayson’s smile.

  “It’s gorgeous,” I said, nodding to the waves in the distance.

  “Yes,” he said, his eyes still on me.

  Grayson and I had been to visit each other as often as possible since reuniting in October. I enjoyed hanging out in his tiny apartment in Brooklyn; I got to know his New York life and his friends, finally meeting his parents and sister. He ended up landing a teaching job in a county near to Charlottesville, and would be starting there once the summer was over.

  “Let’s go get dinner,” he said, scooping me up in his arms. I let him kiss my face, and then I curled up into his chest, feeling completely relaxed.

  We sat by the fire at the restaurant in Big Sur as we waited for a table, overlooking the ocean, the sun now a melting orange in the distance. I had saved most of the money from Select Recruits, with a specific amount set aside for us to go on a vacation this summer. A vacation in California, far away from the Vineyard.

  “What are we going to do after next year?” I asked Grayson. Conversations about our relationship and the future were common. We didn’t often talk about how serious we were. Instead, it was almost a given—and so I wanted to know what we wouldb be doing in one, two, or three years.

  Grayson ran his fingers through mine. “I’ll go wherever you go,” he said. He knew that as I approached completion of my PhD program, I would be applying to jobs, jobs that could take us anywhere in the country, or even the world.

  “Are you sure?” I asked, turning towards him. I searched his eyes. “I’ve already taken you from New York. Well, not yet, but soon. Life in Virginia…well, where we will be, as you know…isn’t exactly like the city.”

  Grayson shrugged, and looked out over the horizon. “You know that doesn’t matter to me,” he said. “I’ll make new friends. And the most important thing is that you will be there.”

  He turned to look at me and touched my face.

  “You should know by now. You’re home. I’ll go wherever you are.”

  I smiled. I felt giddy at the thought of me and Grayson finally being together, all the time, at the same place at the same time. We both knew too well the familiar ache we experienced every time we had to part. We knew the longing and loneliness we felt whenever we were apart, and how sweet it was to be together again. I looked forward to tasting that sweetness every day, and never having to give it up.

  I burrowed my head into his neck. “Well, if there’s anything about me you should prepare for, you should know that there won’t be a shortage of adventures.”

  Grayson leaned over and kissed my neck.

  “Just the way I like it,” he said.

  He lifted my face off of his shoulder and took it in his hands. Grayson’s eyes had softened these past eight months. He kissed me, and he tasted wonderful.

  When we finally leaned away from our kiss, we heard the hostess.

  “Ariel James? Your table is ready.”

  He smiled and took my hand, leading the way.