42.
Chloe
The night of the art opening, I wore the blue dress again. Tara came over and brought a cream-colored headband she thought I should wear, and she also did my makeup, using her own because I really didn’t have anything aside from some tinted lip gloss.
“Keep your eyes closed,” she said. I let my eyes fall shut and felt her brush something across each of my eyelids. “You know, for an artist, I’d think you’d be better at doing your own makeup. So, is Todd still planning on going to this thing?”
“Last I heard he was.”
“What’s he like?”
“He’s the guy that was
there the first night we went into the shop,” I said, opening my eyes.
“Remember?”
She frowned. “Sort of? No, I can’t really picture his face.”
“He’s handsome. Short, dark-blond hair, blue eyes. A little shorter than Graham, more of a slender build. Graham said he was looking forward to meeting you.” I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. “I feel like I’m going to puke.”
“Don’t do that,” Tara said. “You look too stunning to spend even a second leaning over a toilet bowl. You’re going to be fine. I’m so excited to see how your sculpture turned out! And you look absolutely beautiful. You really do. And your boyfriend is going to be right there with you, and we’re all going to have a good time, I promise. You don’t have to be nervous!”
I took several more deep breaths, trying to slow my racing heartbeat. I knew I should be excited about tonight, but I felt so nervous that at this moment, the only thing I wanted was for it to be over.
*****
I’d had work featured in shows before, but it had always been through the school. Not that a school show didn’t count, but in a way, it didn’t entirely. And this opening, it really felt like an event. Like it was something that people had been invited to, that they’d marked on their calendars, that they went out and bought a new outfit for. There were waiters going around with trays of hors d’oeuvres and flutes of champagne, there was a DJ set up in the far corner, spinning a jazz/electronica hybrid, and the place was full of well dressed, good-looking people, some of whom I recognized, but most I did not.
I also felt nervous about my parents, and whether or not they’d be here. Rather, I knew my mother would go, but I didn’t know if my father would or not. Even if he did, what would he say? I was almost beginning to think it might be better if he just skipped it, because I didn’t know what he would think about the sculpture. It had come out better than I’d been expecting it to, but I knew that didn’t necessarily mean anything in regards to how my father would see it.
The sculpture was set up right in the middle of the main room, on a display cube pedestal underneath a spotlight. I had stayed with the nautical theme, it being Cape Cod and all, but instead of a mermaid, I sculpted two separate things: a giant squid and a sperm whale, traditionally great enemies, but in my piece, I made it look as if the two were embracing, with the sperm whale gently twisting around the giant squid’s body, and the squid’s arms caressing the whale’s sides. The two, long tentacles I had formed into a heart.
“Wow,” Graham said. He walked right over to it and stood there for several minutes, just looking. “Chloe. This is incredible.” He saw the price sticker on the cube. “And no,” he said, lowering his voice, “don’t think for a second that this isn’t worth what you’re asking. Twice that much, if you want my opinion.”
“Thank you for saying that,” I said. I tried to see the sculpture with an impartial eye, but it was near impossible.
“Is this yours?” a voice asked from behind me. I turned and saw Janice approaching, an impressed look on her face.
I nodded. “This is it.”
“I love it!” she exclaimed. “Now this is the kind of art that I’m talking about! It’s not some weird paint spatters on a canvas—this is real art. Chloe, I am so impressed!” She gave me a hug, and then gave one to Graham. “You’ve got a real artist here!”
“I know,” he said with a smile.
We spent some time walking around, looking at the other pieces, mingling with the crowd. We made our way over to the buffet table and I got a plate and put some grapes and cheese on it.
“I still don’t see my mom or dad,” I whispered.
“I’m sure they’ll be here,” Graham said. “It’s still early.” He sounded confident, but I saw a flash of uncertainty go across his face.
Time did pass quickly, though. People kept coming up and congratulating me on the sculpture, or wanting to know what my inspiration was. Who were my influences? Also, what was I working on next? Did I work in other mediums? Did I do commissions? Where was my next show going to be? Graham took a step back and let me answer the questions, though I could see him out of the corner of my eye with a grin on his face.
And then—there were my parents. Both of them, walking through the door.
My mother reached me first. “Oh, it’s amazing, Chloe,” she said as she hugged me. “I’m so proud of you. It’s absolutely wonderful.” She let go and stepped back, looking first at my father then at me.
“Hi, Dad,” I said, not quite able to read the expression on his face. He wasn’t smiling, but rather looking with concentration at the sculpture, as though he were really trying to figure it out.
“That’s quite something,” he finally said. “It’s impressive that someone could render something so life-like out of clay.” And then he looked at me. “Hi, Chloe.” He came over and hugged me, and I hugged him back.
“Thanks so much for being
here,” I said. “I wasn’t sure if you guys were going to show up or not.”
“You did a good job,” he said. “I can tell that you really put some time and
effort into this.” He looked over my shoulder at Graham. “Hi there, Graham,” he
said.
They shook hands. “It’s really something, isn’t it?” Graham said. The four of us stood there, looking at the sculpture.
“I like the symbolism,” my mother said. “I like that you’ve got two creatures that are generally considered enemies, yet here they are, in love.”
“Well, I don’t know if they’re in love,” my father said. He cleared his throat. “Regardless, it’s impressive work.”
I could tell by his tone that he wasn’t just saying it, that he actually was impressed with what I had done. And that made me feel better than any of the other compliments I’d received so far.
“That really means a lot to me, Dad.” There was an ache in my throat and I tried to swallow it away, not wanting to cry.
My mom spied Claudia near the back of the gallery and wanted to go talk to her, so Graham and I stayed behind as my parents walked off.
“They came,” I said. That feeling in my chest had started to unknot, and I realized how nervous I’d been that they wouldn’t come. I exhaled. “And I think my dad actually liked it.”
“I’d say he did. And look,” Graham said, nodding.
I looked, unsure of what he was gesturing at. I didn’t see anything at first, or nothing out of the ordinary; just my sculpture there, a few people looking at it.
“What?” I asked.
“On the display cube.”
I looked again, squinting a little. And there, covering the price tag, was a sticker emblazoned with the word SOLD.
*****
We’d both gotten a little tipsy on the free champagne, but by the time we made it home late that night, the buzz had worn off and we were both mellow and happy. We undressed and climbed into bed. The art opening had gone successfully. In fact, it had been better than I even imagined.
“You’d think we were like Romeo and Juliet or something,” I said, “the way our parents were acting.” I felt a heaviness in my chest though. Summer was going to be over soon; I’d be going back to school, which meant I’d be leaving the Cape. I knew people did long distance relationships sometimes, but I had gotten so used to seeing Graham every day. I didn’t want that to suddenly stop. “I’m going to miss you,” I said. “I really wish I didn’t have to go back to school.”
He stroked the side of my face. “Don’t say that. You’ve worked really hard to get where you are.”
“Well, then, I wish that
you could come with me.”
He smiled. “Now that, that might be a bit more feasible.”
“Wait—what? You’d come
with me? How would you do that?”
“I could open a shop in the city. On Point, the city version.”
“But what about the one
here? You’d sell it?”
“Nah. Helena could run it, and it’s close enough I could come down a few times
a month, even. Plus, it’s a lot slower here in the winter than it would be in
the city.” He shrugged. “It was something I’d kind of been thinking about for a
little while now. Expanding. I have been on the Cape here for most of my life,
you know. I wouldn’t mind venturing to other parts of the world. Well, other
parts of the state, as it would be in this case.”
“Wow.”
That was the last thing I’d been expecting him to say. Sure, the thought might have crossed my mind, but not as something I ever imagined would happen. But now that he’d said it, I started thinking how great that would be. And also crazy.
“I would be so happy if that happened,” I said. “But is that crazy? I mean, will people think we’re insane for doing something like this? We haven’t been together that long.”
“I don’t care,” he said. “It doesn’t matter to me what other people think.”
“But what if it doesn’t work out? Then you’ll have uprooted your whole life and opened a new business and—”
“Are you breaking up with
me?”
“No! No, of course I’m not!”
“Do you not want it to work out?”
“There is actually nothing I want more than for it to work out.”
“Then don’t stress about it. Look, I know there’s some people out there that would say it’s a really shitty idea to move in together so soon. And you know what? Maybe it is. But we won’t know it till we try it. I’m willing to take that chance. And besides, we’ve already been living together for a little while this summer, and I don’t know about you, but I’ve really enjoyed it.”
I smiled. “I have too. There was a part of me that was really dreading having to go back to school because I wouldn’t be able to see you as much.”
“You’re not gonna get rid of me that easily,” he said. He pulled me close and kissed my cheek.
“That’s exactly what I wanted to hear,” I said. “You know, I’m glad I decided to take a chance on you.”
Epilogue
Graham
“Are you nervous?”
I took my eyes off the road for a second to glance at Chloe over in the passenger seat. She was sitting with her back very straight, nibbling at her fingernails. She was wearing a red, turtleneck sweater dress and she looked hot as hell.
I looked back to the road. “Nah,” I said, “I think it’ll be fine. They’ll want to know how the new shop is doing and they’ll want to know how school is going. And both of those are going great, so I really don’t think you have anything to worry about. Oh, and the fact that we’re still happily living together also works in our favor.” I reached over and patted her knee. “Everyone will have a good time today.”
“Okay,” she said, taking a deep breath. “I’ll try to think that way, too. I don’t know why I feel so nervous. I guess I just want them to see that everything really is working out.”
“Well, it is, and I’m sure they’ll be happy to see that.”
We were driving back to the Cape for Thanksgiving, which Chloe’s parents were hosting at their summer house.
“I think this is the first time my parents have even been to the Cape when it wasn’t summer,” she said.
“It sure is different,
isn’t it?”
And it was. Gone were the lush greens and the warm sun and the throngs of
people in their swimsuits. Many of the businesses had shut down for the
off-season and there was a distinct chill in the air. It probably wouldn’t
start snowing for another month, but weather in New England was notoriously
fickle and late November snow was certainly not unheard of in these parts.
“I talked to Tara,” Chloe said.
“Oh yeah? Are she and
Todd still getting along?”
“It sounds like it.”
“Where is it they’re at again?”
“Barbados.”
“Ah, okay. Never been.”
“It’s nice. One of Tara’s favorite places. I’m glad they’re having fun. Though if they were around, they could be here today, too!”
I chuckled. “That would certainly make things a little more interesting. Though I think they’re actually interesting enough as is.”
And they were. It wasn’t just going to be Chloe’s parents at this Thanksgiving; my own mother was going, as well as my father and his family. My family. It was still so strange to think that I had this whole family that I didn’t even really know.
“It’ll be good to see Parker,” Chloe said.
“It will.” I’d gone through with the organ donation, and the procedure itself had been relatively simple. I was under general anesthetic, so of course didn’t remember anything about the actual surgery. I’d been sore after, but the pain certainly wasn’t that bad. I was back doing everything I normally did after about two weeks. Recovery for Parker took longer, but that was to be expected. He and I had traded texts a few times, and Craig had kept me updated with his progress—Parker would have to be monitored by doctors and take medication for the rest of his life, but so far, so good; his body was not rejecting the kidney.
*****
She was quiet for the rest of the drive, even when I tried to make conversation. I stopped talking and just drove. Thanksgiving had never been a big holiday for me, so it did feel strange now to be heading to what would probably turn out to be a pretty big celebration. The past Thanksgivings of my adult life had always been with friends, not family, because the Thanksgivings of my childhood had been complete disasters. But now Chloe and I were heading to a house full of family.
And it felt good to be in contact with my father, even though our relationship was more like friends than father-son. That was okay, though. There was no way we could ever go back in time and have the sort of dynamic that we might have had if he’d been there my entire life.
*****
“It looks like everyone’s here already,” she said. “I didn’t realize we were that late.”
“I don’t think we are; maybe everyone else was just early.”
I parked the car and turned the key in the ignition. “Hold on a second,” Chloe said, when she saw me reaching for the door handle. “I just ... I just want to sit here for a second.” She relaxed back into the seat and took a few deep breaths. “Tell me everything’s going to be all right.”
I smiled. “It’s going to be okay. If I can go in there knowing my mother, and my father that I just reconnected with are in there, you will be more than fine.” She nodded as I spoke. I reached over and took her hand, gave it a squeeze. “We’re in this together, remember? We’ll go in there and have a nice time. It’ll be good to see everyone.”
“I know.” She took another deep breath and then smiled that sweet grin of hers. “Okay, I’m ready.”
“I love you, you know.”
“I love you, too,” she said.
We got out of the car and walked toward the house where our families were waiting.
CONVICTION
By Joey Bush and Claire Adams
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 Claire Adams
Prologue
Ollie
I had told her not to, but she went ahead and did it anyway.
“Of course I’m gonna make a cake for my baby on his eighteenth birthday!” my mother said when I protested. She was having trouble sticking the candles into the cake; the latest round of chemo had left her weaker than I’d ever seen, her bones brittle, her skin papery and translucent.
“Ma,” I said. “Two candles is fine. Really.”
She had that look on her face, though, and I knew she’d press on until all eighteen candles were in place.
“Now, Ollie,” she said. “I don’t want you to be too disappointed this year. It’s been hard for me to get around, you know that, so getting you a birthday present was a bit of a challenge.”
“You don’t need to get me anything.”
My mother coughed, a painful, wet hacking sound. I gritted my teeth so I wouldn’t cringe. Her last round of chemo had been exactly that—her last. At her appointment last week, Dr. Gordon had given her a hug, the look on his face clearly saying he knew this was probably the last time he’d see her. There was no reason to continue the chemo, he’d told us. The cancer, which had started in her lungs, was everywhere. Now it was just a matter of making her as comfortable as we could until she finally decided to let go.
Somehow, though, while I’d been at work over at Garrett Wilson’s ranch, she’d summoned enough energy to bake a cake. From a box, but still. She still had to pour, stir, measure a few ingredients. Cooking and baking had always been her thing, though, and I knew she still felt that anything from a box was subpar.
“It looks great, Ma,” I said. She sang happy birthday to me, pausing every couple of seconds to cough. I blew out the candles, knowing the wish I wanted to make wasn’t going to come true.
I didn’t feel like eating cake right then, but I started picking the candles out and putting them on a folded up paper napkin.
“So, you’ve had a good birthday?” my mother asked, watching me as I pulled the candles out.
“Yeah, Ma. It’s been good.”
“You worked on your birthday! I would’ve thought you’d at least have taken the day off.”
“Garrett would’ve given it to me if I asked, but I wanted to work.” It occurred to me after I said it that maybe she’d been hoping I would take the day off; this would be my last birthday she’d be around for. “I’ve got most of tomorrow off, though,” I said. “Just have to go over there in the morning. Early, though, and it shouldn’t take too long.”
“What about Carolyn? Are you planning to see her tonight?”
“Not tonight.” I decided to leave it at that, not wanting to elaborate that the next time I saw Carolyn would be to break up with her. We’d been high school sweethearts, and I thought at one point, I probably really did love her, but the feelings had just faded. It’d be better to break it off with her than to keep stringing her along. She didn’t deserve that.
Problem was, my mother’s feelings for her hadn’t faded, and if anything, had grown stronger over the months because she liked to imagine the grandchildren she thought we might give her one day.
“And I know Darren should be calling any second to wish you happy birthday!” my mother said brightly. “I can’t wait to talk to him and hear all about the big city.”
I looked at the stove clock, the glowing green numbers. My mother would be asleep soon. He wouldn’t call, I knew that, but I forced a smile.
“He’s just so busy,” she said.
My older brother had fled Colorado the second he turned eighteen, landing in San Francisco, where he promptly came out of the closet and declared himself gay.
I cut two slices of cake. She picked at hers, and I ate mine in four big bites, the sugar hurting my teeth, landing in my stomach like a big lump.
“This is for you,” my mother said, pushing a rectangular wrapped box toward me.
“Oh, Ma, you didn’t need to go out to the store and get me anything.”
“It was no trouble at all. Marie and I went together and made a day of it. It was the nicest outing I’ve had in a while. I hope you like it,” she said.
I began unwrapping the box. I didn’t even want to think about how long it must have taken her to wrap the thing in the first place. What a pointless waste, wrapping presents. Just to tear the paper off in about two seconds flat. So, I went slowly, sliding my thumb underneath the first seam, popping the tape off. I set the paper aside and sat there with the box on my lap for a few seconds, before lifting the lid. There was tissue paper to be moved aside, which revealed a bright pink Scully shirt, embroidered across the torso with a floral design. It was about the ugliest thing I’d ever seen.
“Wow,” I said, pulling it out of the box. “Would you look at that.”
My mother beamed. “I wasn’t sure about it, but I called Darren and he said that you’d love it. He’s got such good fashion sense.”
“He sure does.”
I stood up and slid the pink shirt over the black t-shirt I was wearing. The thing fit all right, and my mother smiled in approval.
“That looks wonderful!” she said. “Let me take a picture and we can send it to your brother. I bet he’s going to call any second now.”
“No, Ma, you don’t have to take a picture,” I said. “Darren doesn’t need a picture of me in a pink shirt. I’m sure there’s plenty of guys wearing pink shirts out there, anyway.”
“You’ll have to make sure you bring it when you go out and visit him,” she said. A sad look crossed her face. “It’s kind of like I’ll be out there too, since I bought you the shirt . . . I really wish I had enough time so we could all go out there together . . . .”
“Ma . . . .” We hadn’t had the talk yet. Neither of us had admitted to the other that we knew she was going to die soon, that there likely wouldn’t be another Christmas, certainly not another summer, no more of the Fourth of July celebrations that she loved so much. Every time I’d sensed she was going to bring it up, I veered us away from that. Life was not fair, I knew that, but the whole situation with my mother was so far beyond fair I couldn’t really even think about it without becoming enraged. The doctors didn’t confirm it, but I knew her lung cancer was from breathing in all that secondhand smoke from my father, who had died just a few years earlier in a car accident. He was controlling and abusive, and even a blind person could see the immense weight that lifted from my mother’s shoulders once she was free from ever having to deal with him again. She was able to smile and mean it. She didn’t have to account for her whereabouts every second of every day. She was actually enjoying life. And then she got the news she had cancer, it was incurable, and she was going to die. Nothing anyone could do about it. I didn’t want to have that conversation just yet. There was still time. It was running out, yes, but there was still time.
She smiled. “I know,” she said. “We can talk about it another time. No need to be a Debbie Downer on your birthday! I better get to bed; I’m exhausted.” She looked at me once more, evaluating the shirt. “But that shirt sure does look nice on you.”
“Thanks, Ma. I love it. I’ll wear it out tonight and show all the guys.” All the guys would give me a gigantic heap of shit for wearing such a thing, but I didn’t care. They’d have a laugh about it, and my mom would go to sleep knowing that I’d gone out in the gift she’d given me.
The Watering Hole was the hangout for all the locals, and because I’d grown up around here and had been working for Garrett Wilson since I was eleven, I was allowed into the bar even though I wasn’t twenty-one yet. And, as expected, there was a whole lot of hootin’ and hollerin’ from the guys when I walked in, wearing that pink shirt.
I went over to the bar and the bartender, Lauren, slid me a bottle of beer. “Happy birthday, sweetheart,” she said with a grin. “Almost legal.”
“Where the fuck did that shirt come from?” Alan, one of the guys I worked with on the ranch, asked as he came over and slung an arm around me.
“Gift from my mother,” I said. “Told her I’d wear it out tonight and impress you all.”
Alan grinned. “Figured something like that would be from your brother. But I guess it takes a real man to be able to wear pink like that out in public.”
“How is your mom?” Lauren asked.
“Hangin’ in there,” I said.
“Tell her we’re thinking of her.”
“I will.” I took a sip of the beer, cold and bitter as it went down my throat.
Aside from it being my birthday, though, there wasn’t much different about tonight. It was Friday night, so the place was pretty busy, but I recognized almost all the faces—all except for a girl sitting at a table with a couple guys I went to high school with. Her back was to me, but when she turned, I saw her profile and she wasn’t anyone I recognized.
I sat at the bar and listened to Alan tell me about chasing down a few escaped heifers that almost made it into town. My phone was in the front pocket of my jeans, and I felt it vibrate against my leg. I pulled it out and flipped it open to see who was calling. Carolyn. She’d want to know where I was, and if I told her I was here at the Watering Hole, she’d first give me shit for being at a bar when I wasn’t twenty-one, then she’d come down there and hang out. Carolyn was always after me to do the right thing. She’d want to leave the bar and go drive somewhere, somewhere that it could be just the two of us, and we could talk and she’d slide closer and closer to me and then we’d be kissing, and we’d probably have sex again. It had only happened once so far, just last week, actually, because Carolyn had wanted to wait. Only after did she tell me that she’d decided to do it this time because she knew that we’d eventually get married. Since then, there’d been several more opportunities to do the deed, and she certainly wanted to, but I couldn’t. Not knowing that what I really needed to do was break up with her.
I closed the phone and slipped it back in my pocket. “Carolyn,” I said.
Alan smirked. “You hit that shit yet?”
“Shut up,” I said.
“’Cause if she was my girl . . . .”
“Really, Alan, shut up. You couldn’t fuck your way out of a wet paper bag.”
“You gonna meet up with her tonight? She takes one look at that shirt and she’ll be on her back pronto. A shirt like that . . . that’s what they called a ‘lady killer.’”
“Then I better take it off right now and give it to you, since we all know you need all the help you can get in that department.”
“Someone buy this man another beer!” Alan shouted.
I drank the second beer, ignored another call from Carolyn, endured more good-natured shit about my pink shirt. It was nice that everyone wanted to celebrate, but I wasn’t really in the mood. I hung out for a while, but then decided to call it a night. That way I could get up nice and early and get over to the ranch and help Garrett repair the fencing and then get back home to spend some time with my mother. Maybe I’d even take her over to the ranch to see the horses; being around them always seemed to lift her spirits.
I heard something as I walked to my truck, though, a scuffling and then a girl’s voice saying, “No, stop it.” She wasn’t shouting or anything, and I almost kept walking, but then she said it again, a little more forcefully, but I also heard a note of fear.
I turned to my right and saw that it was Isaac Wentworth, one of the guys I’d gone to high school with. He had graduated a few years before me, and we’d actually been in shop class together, but we were never what you’d call friends. He had a twin brother, Evan, and they had their little group of friends that always stuck together. You got the feeling that they were always planning something, scheming, devising some sort of plan to try to take over the world. Now, though, he had that girl pinned up against the truck. There was just enough moonlight for me to see that he’d pulled her shirt up, exposing her stomach and the top of her jeans. Her hands were pushing his away.
“Hey,” I said.
He ignored me.
“Hey,” I said again, louder.
Isaac turned his head, the bulk of him blocking the girl from my view. “What?” he said roughly.
“What are you doing?”
“Something that doesn’t require an audience. We’re fine, Ollie; we don’t need a chaperone.”
“I just want to go home,” the girl said.
Isaac laughed. “The hell you do,” he said. “Don’t worry, sweetheart; you’ll get to go home, just not quite yet.”
“Leave her alone,” I said.
Isaac sneered. “Or what?”
“Or nothing. Just get off of her.”
He rolled his eyes like he couldn’t believe that I would actually be saying that to him and yanked the girl’s shirt up even higher. She shrieked.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I said, yanking him back.
“Fuck off,” he said. “This ain’t got nothin’ to do with you.” He started to turn back but let his gaze linger on me first. “Nice shirt, pussy.” He reached for the girl again, who was cowering against the truck, her face shrouded in the darkness.
“I don’t fucking think so, asshole,” I said, and I grabbed him and threw him back. He stumbled a few steps but didn’t fall; when he regained his balance he ran at me swinging, one fist connecting with my side but I barely even felt it. My own fists were clenched and every time I swung, I felt my knuckles make contact with his soft flesh. Even where I hit bone, it felt soft, and it seemed it took only seconds for us to go from standing to him flat on his back, me above him, pummeling his face. At first, he tried to get his arms up, to hit me, then to just block me but I couldn’t stop. Who the fuck did he think he was, trying to ruin some girl’s night by doing something she didn’t want him to do? But it wasn’t just for that reason I kept hitting him; all the stress and guilt and anxiety I’d been feeling ever since my mother told me she had cancer, the unfairness of it, that just when she’d finally been freed from my father and was starting to actually enjoy life that she’d find out she was dying . . . It wasn’t fair. I kept hitting him because of all of that, and because it also felt good to have a release for the stress, for the anger, for all of that, and by the time I stopped, my arms ached, the girl was gone, and I was alone in the parking lot. I didn’t have to look at Isaac’s bloodied, pulpy face to know that he was dead—that my own two fists had just beaten the very life out of him.
Part 1
Seven Years later
1.
Wren
It was just like out of a movie.
The couch, me reclining on it, facing away from Dr. Michael Carter, who sat in a brown leather wingback chair, one leg crossed over the other, yellow legal pad in his lap, pen scribbling away. Mike, he’d told me to call him during our first visit. If that made me feel more comfortable.
Nothing was making me feel comfortable lately, which was why I was here in the first place. I’d been dealing with it pretty well, or so I’d thought, but that had now changed. I’d made the first appointment with Dr. Mike—almost a year ago now—under the guise of wanting to get a control of my “serial dating.” I’d gotten into the bad habit of sleeping with guys and never returning their calls, even the ones that I actually did find myself liking. I’d become a “real bitch” as one of the guys had so kindly phrased it after we’d slept together and I then refused to see him again. Worse, I was starting to get a reputation around town, which, as a small business owner, I did not want. But I didn’t seem to know how to stop it.
Talking with Dr. Mike was helpful, sort of. I didn’t feel as though I was any closer to actually untangling the knot that was my problems, but just speaking out loud about them really did seem to help.
“So, these dreams,” Dr.
Mike was saying. “You’ve been having recurring nightmares.”
I stared at a speck on the ceiling. “Yes. But that’s not that strange; I’ve
been having those dreams for the past seven years now. I’m used to them.”
“What’s changed, then?”
The speck moved; it was actually a fly. “Because I found out that person is getting released from prison.”
“And how did you find
this out?”
I hesitated. There was always this awkward moment when I had to admit what I’d
been doing all these years. “I called the prison he’s at. I’ve been . . . I
looked him up online. He had a MySpace profile that I found, and he’d started a
Facebook one, but then . . . but then the incident happened and . . . .” I let
my voice trail off. I was stalking him online, although it’s difficult to stalk
someone in this way when they’re in prison and can’t actually access the
internet. I’d learned his name from the newspaper article, which I could recite
verbatim:
Carmel resident, Isaac Wentworth, 20, was killed last night in
an altercation in the parking lot of the Watering Hole. Oliver
“Ollie” Boardman, 18, also a resident of Carmel, has been detained,
charges pending. An unidentified female was also at the scene,
but she left before police arrived. Authorities would like to speak
with her, so anyone with information regarding her whereabouts
or who she is, is asked to come forward.
No one knew me, was the thing. I had seen the article, so yes, I could’ve come forward, I could have driven myself down to the Carmel police station and answered whatever questions they had. But I didn’t. Instead, I stared at that article, reread it so many times that I eventually had it memorized. I didn’t come forward when Oliver plead guilty to voluntary manslaughter, and, because they’d avoided a trial, the district attorney offered him ten to twelve years. And now he was getting out after seven. I told myself that my coming forward wouldn’t have changed anything. It would not give Isaac his life back, it would not make Oliver’s statement any more or less true.
“The incident,” Dr. Mike said. “We haven’t really touched upon that much in your sessions. Do you feel ready to talk about it?”
Dr. Mike knew the broad details: something had happened about seven years ago, something that had made me mistrustful of pretty much every guy I’d ever been around, and that someone had ended up in prison because of it. I’d been purposefully vague with him, and he’d been completely accepting of my vagueness. There was no way I would’ve been able to stand something like that—I would need to know, right then, the specifics of whatever the hell it was the person was talking about. Not Dr. Mike, though. He’d probed a little, trying to extract more information, but when I wasn’t forthcoming with it, he let it drop, maybe knowing that this day would eventually arrive.
Did I feel ready to talk about it?
“I think I do,” I said.
“Good. Tell me what happened.”
“Well . . . .” It had been seven years ago, yet I could remember it as though it had just happened. I could still feel his weight pressing against me, the terrible helplessness when you realize you are overpowered. “The thing is . . . nothing happened to me. Because Oliver showed up. If he hadn’t though, I don’t know what would have happened. That is something I think about. A lot.” And that was stupid, I knew it. What was the point in wasting all this energy playing out bad scenarios that could have—but didn’t—happen? People did it all the time, but no good was coming from me thinking about the fact that Isaac Wentworth could have raped me, or beaten me, or killed me, if Oliver hadn’t been there.
“Something did happen to you, though,” Dr. Mike said.
“I just feel so stupid. I still feel so stupid for being so naïve. It was my first weekend in Carmel. I’d gone out to that bar alone, and when Isaac and his group of friends asked if I wanted to sit with them, I actually felt happy because I thought that the locals were including me, that I must’ve looked like I belonged.” The shame still burned red hot when I thought back to how pleased I’d been at the invitation to sit with them. I was so proud of myself! Moving to this town all by myself, going out to a bar alone, getting invited to sit with some guys at their table. How could I not have seen how foolish I was being?
“It’s a very natural response to want to be accepted, especially when you’re in a new environment.” I could hear Dr. Mike scribbling something on his yellow legal pad. I wondered what he was writing. Clearly beyond help. The whole thing was obviously her fault. She deserved it.
“And Isaac asked if I wanted to go smoke a cigarette. I don’t even smoke but I said yes. I thought he was cute. So, we went out to the parking lot, and he said he’d left his lighter in his truck, so we walked over there, but he didn’t even bother with the lighter. He just sort of cornered me against his truck and tried to kiss me.” I paused again, not wanting to continue because to admit that a small part of me had, for a split second, felt thrilled that someone was this interested in me, to admit that would be to suggest that I had invited the whole thing to happen. That I had somehow been sending some sort of subconscious signal that he’d picked up on. Which I knew was bullshit, but at the same time couldn’t help believing, too.
“How did that make you feel?” Dr. Mike asked after a few long moments had passed and I hadn’t said anything.
“I felt . . . .” There was no point in lying, or withholding the truth. I was paying him to listen to this, after all; he wasn’t someone I was trying to impress. There would be no hope of the nightmares ever letting up if I wasn’t honest about it all. “I felt surprised. I couldn’t believe it, and yes, there was a part of me that was excited because he was kissing me. I might have kissed him back. I can’t remember. But then . . . but then, he started trying to take things further and I told him to stop.” I had laughed as I said it, the idea that he wouldn’t still not occurring to me yet. That was the sort of thing that happened in movies, or to girls who dressed in short skirts and tight shirts and had too much to drink. It wasn’t supposed to happen to me, not during my first week in my new town, my first night out on my own. “He wouldn’t stop, though. It didn’t seem to matter how many times I said it; I felt like I said it dozens of times, but maybe it was only once or twice. I don’t know.”
“Would it make a difference? How many times you said it?”
“Wouldn’t it? If I only said it once or twice, maybe he didn’t hear me. Or maybe he didn’t think that I really meant it.”
“It shouldn’t matter if you said it once or a hundred times. You shouldn’t need to say it one hundred times. The fact of the matter is: he was doing something to you that you didn’t want him to do.”
That was probably the most opinionated I’d heard Dr. Mike get about anything I’d said so far. He’d given me slippery non-answers in my previous sessions, when I detailed the guys I’d been with, wondering aloud if my ability to just turn my emotions off was an ability that I’d always had or if it was a result of the night in the parking lot. It didn’t seem as though Dr. Mike was going to give me any of the answers I was looking for, despite the exorbitant amount of money I was paying him. It was as though he was expecting me to figure out those answers on my own, which didn’t seem like something I was going to be able to do any time soon.
After my appointment, I went back to work. I usually scheduled my appointments with Dr. Mike during the lull between breakfast and lunch, so when I returned, the place was mostly empty and my main waitress, Lena, was re-setting the tables with clean silverware and napkins.
It still made me feel giddy sometimes to think that I owned this restaurant. I didn’t have much in the way of accomplishments to my name—no college degree, no husband or children to speak of—but after the previous café had been put up for sale, I used the inheritance money my grandma had left me and bought the place, shut it down for a few months while it was renovated, and re-opened it under a new name: Ollie’s.
We did breakfast and lunch, wholesome, hearty food, not the slop you’d get at the diner right off the highway, but not the high-priced, tiny plate fare you’d get at some of the swankier establishments in town. I wanted the place to be welcoming, laid back, but also visually appealing. I’d been a little nervous about the whole thing at first, because I didn’t have much restaurant experience aside from a few waitressing jobs, and I didn’t have a degree in business, but I was determined to make this work. I did not consider failure to be an option, even if no one wanted to come in to the restaurant and eat.
“Hey, Wren,” Lena said
when she saw me. “Everything go okay at your appointment?”
“Pretty good!” I said, trying to sound cheerful. I told Lena I’d started seeing
Dr. Mike, though I hadn’t specified why. I didn’t need to though; Lena was
totally one of those women who was all about self-help, and she herself
“seeing” someone, though it was for the opposite reason of why I was going:
Lena couldn’t seem to make any relationship work, or she was choosing the wrong
guys, or some combination of the two.
I went out back and put my purse in the office, said “hi” to Shaun and the other two cooks, then went back out to the dining room. I needed a coffee.
There was a guy sitting at the bar, drinking a cup of coffee of his own, working on a club sandwich. It was Ryan, one of the out-of-state employees who worked at one of the nearby guest ranches. Last season, he’d had a girlfriend, but one of the very first things he’d said to me when he set foot in the restaurant was that they’d broken up. I had acted nonchalant about this information, though I figured it would only be a matter of time before he and I hooked up.
“Wren,” he said. “Was hoping I’d run into you.”
“Had an appointment,” I said. “How’s the sandwich?”
“Delicious as always. You
got plans tonight?”
“Yeah, I’ve got a bunch of things I need to take care of.” I didn’t have
anything I needed to take care of,
but I’d felt odd after I left Dr. Mike’s, and I knew when I was feeling like
this, it was better to spend the night alone.
“How about this weekend? You ought to come on over to the ranch, there’s going to be a barbecue and a little party of sorts to kick off the start of the season. Saturday night.”
I nodded as I poured a giant cup of coffee in my special mug that said This is whiskey on the side in pretty pink script. It was a joke because I’d never had whiskey in this mug before, or any mug, for that matter; I got tipsy off of a few beers, so definitely couldn’t handle something like whiskey. “I might be able to make that,” I said. I did love a good barbecue.
“That’d be mighty nice,” Ryan said, giving me a look that plenty of guys had given me before. I used to feel dangerously thrilled, but now it didn’t really do anything. It wasn’t exciting, it wasn’t even that much fun. It was just another way to spend an evening.