by Rhys Everly
And Lucas? Him I didn’t even know. When I left, he was just ten years old and the only black kid at school. He’d been bullied since he joined our family at the age of three, and we’d all done our absolute best to embrace him and make him feel like one of us. He’d been Mom’s favorite, and he and Charlie, my other younger brother, had been very close since they were only a year apart. And I’d left him behind to come back almost two decades later to find him a full-grown man. A man I didn’t know because I’d never been back.
No wonder they hated me. I’d hate me too.
“Who are you?” a girl came into the kitchen. She was wearing indigo butterfly wings on her back that matched her dress. Her hair was dark brown and curly, and for a moment, she reminded me of Mom.
“Summer, this is your Uncle Leo. Do you remember?” Melody said.
Of course. Summer. Melody had talked to me about Andy’s kids, not that I’d met any of them. Summer had been only four years old when Lucy passed, and Andy’d had to raise her on his own. With the help of Yaya and the rest of the family, of course.
“Yes. Of course I remember. You’re the famous singer,” she said and approached me.
I pushed my chair back and got to my knees and gave her my hand.
“I’m Leo. Nice to finally meet you, Summer.”
Summer ignored my hand and instead hooked herself on my neck and gave me the welcome I hadn’t received from her dad.
“It’s like I’ve got a new uncle,” she said. “Will you hang out with me?”
I laughed.
“Of course. That’s why I’m here. To hang out with my favorite niece.”
Her smile widened, and she took a seat right next to me just as Yaya served the food. It was just like I remembered. I’d never tried any moussaka that surpassed Marina’s. It was like a hug on a plate.
“So I guess staying here is out of the question,” I said.
“What? Why?” Yaya asked.
“Well, you saw how they treated me. I don’t want to invade their space,” I said.
“They’re just being hotheads. Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll talk to them,” Yaya said.
“I can’t—”
“Don’t worry, Leo. I’ve got you a room at my bed & breakfast,” Melody said.
Yaya Marina opened her mouth in shock.
“What? I haven’t seen my brother in seventeen years. I’m spending all the time I can with him. And considering how busy I’m going to be with the rooms, I want to make sure we get some quality time,” Melody justified herself.
Summer clapped her hands.
“I love the B&B. Yaya, can I visit Auntie Melody and Uncle Leo there?”
Yaya took a deep breath and eventually closed her mouth in a pursed, forced smile and covered Summer’s hand with hers.
“Of course, sweetheart. Of course,” she said, but I could tell she wasn’t happy with Melody’s arrangement.
I had no idea what was going to happen over the following week or if I could even bridge the gap between my brothers and me, but I knew one thing for certain. Things were going to be interesting.
Three
Dawson
I opened my eyes and let them adjust to the light coming in from the window, and the birdsong coming from outside put a smile on my face.
I sat up and rubbed the sleep away. I couldn't remember the last time I’d slept in a bed like this. Even my own back in New York wasn't that comfortable. I’d slept like a log. Both the mattress and the pillows had managed to caress my body and encompass it in a warm embrace throughout the night. I’d never felt more ready to seize the day.
Last night had been a disappointment for sure, but I would just have to make sure I spent as much time with my parents as possible.
As much as this was about them, it was also about me and my much deserved, much needed break. There wasn’t anything like a seaside escape. And moreover, a seaside escape where I didn’t have to work.
I got dressed in my jogging shorts and a T-shirt and left my room through the balcony, working up my pace as I approached the sea.
The rhythmic crashing of the waves offered a soundtrack to my run, and the salty smell opened up my appetite. Running along the beach, I got the chance to admire the beauty of this small town. As was often the case with seaside communities, Melody’s B&B was situated along the coast of Cedarwood Beach with the majority of the towns other local businesses, bars, restaurants, and tourist shops.
There were patches of the beach where a few people were busy setting up neat rows of sunbeds and parasols, most of them empty at this time of day—it was still seven in the morning after all—but I knew it would be buzzing with activity in a matter of hours. The water was full of fishing boats, surely out for their daily catch to deliver to the local restaurants.
I reached the far end of town, and once there, I got lost inside the woods, but not before I managed to snap some shots of the bay and the scenic view of the Cedarwood Beach from my current vantage point. My morning routine was my favorite part of the day. I was never a big fan of sleep, and I could never snooze. Even without an alarm, I was always up at seven in the morning, and instead of sitting in bed scrolling through my feed, I preferred getting my exercise out of the way so I could enjoy whatever I was doing after breakfast.
Today, I could possibly make a start on the latest thriller from James Sky, which I’d picked up at the airport four days ago, but as of this moment remained untouched in my suitcase. And then after, maybe do lunch with my parents. If they weren’t busy.
When I entered deeper into the forest, the chirpy song of robins and sparrows greeted me. There was something about nature that I couldn’t resist. Even back in New York, I would often find solace in the depths of Central Park.
I enjoyed the solitude. And even though it should have been ironic considering how alone I was, spending time with myself, even if for just half an hour, gave me more life than being in a room full of people. I didn’t consider myself a shut-in or an introvert, but maybe I was turning into one the older I became. Or maybe it was the crazy life I lived that was making me into one. Those press conferences always got to me. And it wasn't just that.
It was all the media politics, the coverages, the interviews, the chat shows. All of it. As much as I enjoyed filming and being in front of the camera, it was all the stuff that came after production had completed that I couldn't stand.
I couldn't complain. I'd had an easy life. For the most part. My story went a bit like those strokes of luck one heard often coming from celebrities. College with the highest scores in the theatre, going to one of the country's top drama schools, and getting an agent straight out of it. Flying off to LA for my first gig and getting booked up pretty fast over the next few years. I’d become one of Hollywood's most sought-after actors. It had been a smooth ride. Mostly. The stuff I’d had to do to get there was stuff I'd tried to bury deep into my subconscious.
No, the majority of my life had been easy. So why was I so fed up with it all? I knew the answer of course. It wasn't just the fact that I’d been working on the same film series for nearly a decade, it was everything that went with it. As if I had to be a certain way to be accepted and continue to be accepted in the Hollywood elite club.
Thinking about it, I wished…
No, it was wrong to think that way. And it shouldn't even be something that crossed my mind. But once the seed had been planted, it was hard to snap out of it.
How different would life be if I'd had a rougher start? As ungrateful as that sounded, I wished things hadn't gone as smoothly as they had, and perhaps I would have struggled a bit more, but maybe, just maybe, I would also have lived a little.
The biggest moments of my life were all work-related. Moving countries and continents. Getting the gig for the first film in the franchise. Becoming the forerunner for a multi-billion film series. Breaking records for the biggest opening weekend. Being the first actor playing a superhero to be nominated for an Academy Award.
&nbs
p; They were all huge achievements. And I was proud of each and every one of them. But that was all I had.
I was thirty-eight years old, and I'd only had two relationships in my life. The first one had ended in disaster, and it had all been my fault. And the second one had fizzled out when Bryan didn't care to be in the closet with me anymore.
Sometimes I wondered... What if I tried to be with a woman? And not just for the cameras, but really, really, tried? Or what if I came out? What if I gave it all up and started over, if that was even possible at this stage? Would any of it help?
My stomach protested, and not wanting to keep it empty any longer, I started to make my way back to the guest house.
When I finally approached Melody’s, a small wooden, suntrap gazebo caught my eye on the other end. Maybe this would be the perfect spot to let go of all the somber thoughts and get lost in James Sky’s book. Most times it was easier to deal with fictional problems than real ones.
As I got back in my room the same way I’d come out, I checked the time on my watch. It was almost ten. I had no idea how that was possible. I guess times flies in Cedarwood Beach.
I didn’t want to miss breakfast, so instead of jumping in the shower, I headed to the breakfast room upstairs.
As it turned out, the breakfast room wasn’t really a room at all. More of a restaurant taking up the entire floor with floor to ceiling windows and a balcony that gave me the illusion that it was just me and the sea and nothing else at all. Well, me and the myriad of guests that were occupying the space. I counted the tables, and I was impressed to find over fifteen just inside, with an additional five on the balcony. All of them taken.
Did Melody’s really have fifteen rooms, or was this a proper restaurant for non-guests too?
“Mr. James,” Melody exclaimed and approached me with her hands wide open as if she was about to hug me.
Instead of hugging me, she just placed on hand on my arm and winked at me.
It’d only taken me three seconds to stress about giving my real name to an establishment and exactly five seconds for Melody’s calming presence to reassure me that my stay would remain incognito as long as I did.
And she’d had a point. It’s not like I was known for my voice acting. My face was plastered on billboards, posters, Lunchables, and sippy cups. It wouldn’t be long before word spread that I was in town.
But I would enjoy the anonymity while it lasted. And for all I knew, it was entirely possible to go my entire stay without anyone finding out. What was I going to do in town anyway? Visit my parents and stay at the bed & breakfast reading books.
“You’re after some breakfast, aren’t you?” she said.
“If it’s not too late,” I replied.
“Of course not. But I do have a teensy, little problem,” Melody said and pinched her fingers to show how insignificant her problem was. “I’m all outta tables. You see, with the Butterfly Festival starting today and families spread apart over different hotels, I’ve got a big group that has taken most of my space. Would you mind sharing?”
I must have flinched because she rushed to add.
“Not with them. Just this one other guy. He’s also staying on the down-low, so your secret will be fine.” She said the last bit under her breath.
“If it helps, I could have it in my room,” I said.
“No,” she exclaimed. “You’re on vacation. We’re not going to get you trapped inside your room the whole stay. He’s a lovely guy. Come on. I’m sure he’ll be pleased to meet you.”
And with that, and not being given much of a choice, I was directed to a table outside on the balcony where I saw a hunched figure reaching for something on the floor.
Somebody called Melody’s name and she had to run before she got the chance to introduce me. I hesitantly pulled the empty chair, but I didn’t sit down.
The man straightened his body again, holding a phone in his hand with a smashed screen, and he looked right at me.
“I’m sorry this table is tak—” he started, but once he realized who I was, he froze.
I couldn’t blame him. I also found myself unable to move. What was he doing here in the middle of nowhere?
“Dawson,” he said.
“Leo,” I said at the same time.
He looked around him, probably thinking he was being pranked on live TV. I had the exact same thought. But there were no hidden cameras.
"What are you doing here?" he finally said and turned to me.
“I’m visiting my parents. What are you doing here?” I asked, and I detected the defensiveness in my tone too late to do anything about it.
“Your parents don’t live in Cedarwood Beach. They live in Chicago,” he grimaced.
“Well,” I said and took a definite stand against his negativity and sat down opposite him. “They live here now.”
“I’m sitting here,” he said before I even finished my sentence.
I pointed inside toward Melody and explained what she’d told me.
“Bitch. She could have at least warned me,” Leo muttered.
“There’s no need to call the poor woman a bitch, Leo. She’s just doing her job,” I said.
“Oh, shut up. Don’t tell me what to do,” he responded.
“Why are you here?” I asked him to distract from the fact that we hated each other’s guts. Him more than me.
“That’s none of your business,” he said.
“I told you why I’m here.”
“Well, if you ever paid attention to me when I was talking to you, you’d remember this is where I’m from. But you never did, did you? All you ever cared about was yourself,” he said, and his voice was starting to get the attention of the other tables.
I put my hand on the side of my face and dipped my head a little so people didn’t recognize me, which only seemed to anger Leo more.
There had been so many sleepless nights where I imagined what a reunion with Leo would be like, but none of them ended up like this. Sure, we hadn't seen each other in almost two decades and hadn't left things on the best of terms, but I’d at least expect some false niceties instead of whatever this was.
I understood why he’d been so angry back then, but I couldn’t believe he was still angry to this day.
“Oh, now you’re ashamed of me and don’t want to be seen with me? That’s rich, Dawson, even for you,” Leo said, and then Melody approached so he forced his mouth shut and smiled.
“Everything okay?” she asked staring at Leo.
“Sure, sure. Everything is peachy,” Leo replied with a pout.
Melody took our order and left the table, and I could tell she was unconvinced by Leo’s reassurance.
"It's—it’s been so long, how have you been?" I asked after the silence was growing unbearable.
"I've been good," was all he said and gave his undivided attention to his phone.
I tried to do the same, but it was impossible not to look at him after all these years. We’d met when we were just boys, and he had grown into a man. A seriously sexy, smoking hot man.
His black hair was slightly curled and short, and his eyebrows were as thick as you’d expect a Greek-American to have. They framed his square face in an image of an Adonis.
Even his arms were big and bulky and stretching the fabric of his T-shirt so the fabric looked glued on his skin. My mind flashed back to college when we used to hold each other in bed and tell our wildest dreams. That seemed like a lifetime ago. And even so, now more than ever, I wanted those big, strong arms to take me and never let me go.
I needed to snap out of it. We hadn’t been together in millennia. There was definitely no reason for me to open old wounds.
Melody arrived with our food and shook me out of my nostalgia as both of us started devouring the contents of the plate in front of us. I tried to concentrate on my breakfast, but even my increased hunger couldn't distract me from the stiff air between us. Before I said anything stupid, I stuffed a croissant in my mouth.
The ambient music in the restaurant became more prominent the quieter we stayed. The laughter and chatter from the tables next to us were becoming louder and more deafening until it was all I could hear. I was tempted to take my plate to my room, but I wasn't going to give up so easily. I wasn't a quitter. If I was, I wouldn't have the career I had today.
"I heard about your band," I said. "I'm sorry to hear you guys broke up."
"I'm not," Leo said without looking at me.
"Were things not very good between you guys? I was under the impression that you are all close friends."
"Were."
"I see," I said. "Well, at least you made a name for yourself."
Leo stopped eating, put his fork down, and looked at me.
"What’s that supposed to mean? You don't need to patronize me," he said.
"I…I wasn't—"
"You think you're someone just because you make some stupid movies? Who the hell do you think you are to act all high and mighty as if you're taking pity on me? I have a name; I had a name even before the band. At least I didn't sell out," Leo shouted.
My jaw dropped open. I looked at the other tables, shaking my head in disbelief. Did Leo just dare say I was a sell-out to my face? Just because I was a Hollywood actor? I’d have expected this from someone who had no creative cell in their body and no aspirations in life, but coming from another artist? Someone who'd had the same dreams as I did when he was young? And where on earth had all of that come from? Was this what I was going to get for trying to be nice?
"A sell-out? You mean to say that making a living out of my dream job is selling out? Well, if that's the case, I'd rather be a sell-out than a drug addict. Or are you a drunk this month? Sorry, I can't quite keep up," I shouted too.
"You fucking asshole," Leo replied, dropped his fork on the table, pushed his chair away, and stormed out of the restaurant.
As soon as I said it, I regretted it. I didn’t even mean any of it. Leo didn’t deserve that. But I wasn't going to sit there and take abuse from him without retaliating. If Leo hadn't been such an ass himself, I’d never have said it.