Aiken

Four long days had just about passed without a single glimpse of Claire. I hadn’t heard Smitty barking or caught a glimpse of her, with her black-as-night ponytail, running down the street. It wasn’t like I didn’t try either. I’d been running myself, early morning and late afternoon, and in between working at my desk in front of the window and heading out to investigate the real reason I was in East Kabumfuck—I certainly looked.

Now it was Friday night, and I decided not to sit in my house like a loner, pining for a conversation with a woman I didn’t even know or barely could pretend to understand. Likely, I was here for the long haul, so I needed to get out and explore Centre County, Pennsylvania, and all that it held for me.

Other than why I came and the mysterious woman next door, whom I was quickly becoming obsessed with—

Opening up Yelp on my laptop, I looked for recommended bars and hangouts, finding two places—Clive’s and Juicey’s.

Clive’s was apparently a shithole catering to locals, and Juicey’s had live music on Fridays. I went with the latter for the music alone. I didn’t care whether a place was a shithole. Seated at the bar later, I quickly realized what a mistake I’d made. Yes, the crowd was certainly closer to my age, but the desperate odor the women gave off wasn’t for me.

I was a man in a temple full of babies wanting to be sacrificed.

“Hiiii.” A scantily clad redhead fell into my side. “I’m Sheena, and it’s my birthhhday,” she slurred in my face.

“Happy birthday,” was all I gave her.

“Your arms are so huge, you must lift.” Her bright red nails scratched at the sleeve of my shirt, allowing her to get a better look at my arm.

“Hard labor, no lifting. Sorry to disappoint.”

I’d never been so grateful for my commuter education. Somehow, I’d avoided this entire scene.

“Oooh, hard labor. What’s that?” She looked up at me, doe-eyed, yet trying to appear sexual. I had to contain a laugh.

“Farm life, that’s what.”

She sucked her drink dry, the small cocktail straw straining as it was.

“Wanna do a shot?”

“Got my beer, I’m all good.” Turning my attention to the TV, I tried to focus on the baseball game.

“Wanna buy me another drink?”

Sheena failed to get it. I wasn’t interested. I hadn’t even given her my name—not that she seemed to care. I thought back to Claire not wanting to share her name with me.

I cared.

I didn’t know why, but I did.

“Sheena, I’m not your type. Not even a student.” I tried to wave her off. “I’m sure there’re better guys than me here. Why don’t you run along?”

Her pout did nothing for me, and I had an affinity for pouts.

“What do you do?” Her fingers came back to my arm.

I gently removed her hand from my skin and stood, tossed some money on the bar, and said, “I gotta roll. Have a good night, Sheena.”

Outside Juicey’s, I took stock of the area. Downtown of a college town, the Golden Arches the only familiar icon. Rows of local bars and coffee shops lined the sidewalks. Students zigged and zagged in and out of traffic and on and off sidewalks.

Get me outta here, I thought.

Fast.

Back home again, I settled on the back deck, a beer in one hand and a fresh cigar in the other, laptop balanced on my knees. The street was quiet as always, one of the few residential streets in a college town. For the moment, crickets were my only company. Don’t get me wrong, I was grateful for the house. It might not have been my style or suit my bachelor credibility, but I liked it.

I bent my head back to look at the dark sky, puffing on my stogie and taking in the stars. They weren’t quite as clear as they were at home, but they’d do.

I wasn’t here permanently. Eventually, I’d go back home. I didn’t know if settling down was in the cards for me, especially after what my pops had gone through. I liked to think it was…reality settled. I was a thirty-year-old guy who liked staying in, staring at the sky, thinking ’bout my hot-as-shit neighbor more than going out for an easy lay. Perhaps that was a sign I was ready to settle, or some shit like that.

Yep, thirty had hit hard. Although I didn’t look my age, as I’m sure Sheena would attest.

Like a fool, I googled my neighbor’s name.

Claire Richards, professor.

I found her work department. Psychology. Blah, blah. An old picture. Her list of degrees and qualifications. The sold listing for her house. Her ex sold it to her for one dollar over a decade ago.

Then I typed: Claire Richards’ Daughter, Centre County, Pennsylvania.

This resulted in an onslaught of results.

Abby Richards, victim of a local explosion, motive still unknown.

A weathered school photo of her—dark hair like her mom and blue eyes from her dad?

Claire was quoted as saying, “Sad this type of mass destruction has found its way to our small town. Even worse, we can’t seem to find who was at the helm of it. We want answers. We need answers. The families of the victims deserve this from law enforcement. Now we are being forced to move forward with nothing.”

Another picture of Claire: red-eyed, tired, rumpled.

According to the paper, the police had captured a young duo exiting the small university arena, which only seated slightly over three thousand people, making their apprehension easy. It also allowed for many of the attendees to quickly exit the building.

Thank God.

Sadly, the pair in custody hadn’t been the masterminds, only responsible for setting the explosion in motion. They both refused to sing like canaries, slipping a suicide pill (provided to them) into their mouths when the investigators looked the other way. All they’d given up was they were poor college students who’d been promised a sizable money transfer for doing the Lord’s work. They didn’t care whose work it was. They wanted the money. Which never landed in their accounts. There were no other clues at the scene. Not a single other suspicious person. Nothing. It was as dry as the Sahara…

I slammed the laptop closed, looked around, feeling guilty.

“Shit,” I muttered. I should’ve stayed with Sheena. Maybe she would have dulled the need to fix my neighbor?

For sure, I shouldn’t be googling anything involving Claire’s daughter’s death. I should wait for her to tell me herself. Hold her hand, let her cry on my shoulder, beat on my chest—like I’d wished someone did for me when my mom never came back. I could really be there for her.

I should hear her daughter from her, not the Internet.

I’d seen what loss had done to my dad. The hearsay killed his spirit. My mom’s disappearance ate at his soul. Old newspaper articles didn’t do it justice. That’s why I was here, looking for my mom, trying to squeeze out some answers, allowing my dad to breathe easy again.

After a few more puffs of my stogie, I began to hear barking. Looking across the way, I saw two round eyes and a pair of paws propped up in the window. A faint light flickered from behind Smitty as he cocked his head against the drapery.

Dude looked sad and lonely. Probably just had to take a leak.

A bad idea cropped up in my head as I thought back to the other night.

Had I heard Mary mention a hide-a-key the other night through my screen door? Taking my cigar, I lumbered my way next door, my flip-flops clicking against the concrete the only noise as Smitty eyed me making my way. “I’m coming.”

Picking up a plant, I felt around underneath, finding only a pack of smokes. Setting it down, I noticed one odd-looking stone, larger than the others, in the bottom of the planter. A fake one with a key inside. Bingo—not stopping to consider how nuts this was, or that I wasn’t back home, I grabbed the key.

Just as I was about to put the damn thing in the door, common sense prevailed.

What about an alarm?

Better yet, what the hell was it about this woman?

I’d barely spoken to her, we’d had a few random meet-ups, and now I was at her house, breaking and entering.

It was her. I liked her, physically, but could tell there was more than the surface…and then I heard her.

“I’m walking down my driveway, Laur. Don’t worry, I’m going to be okay,” she said through sniffling. She rounded the back porch before I could make a break for it, and unfortunately, she screamed into the phone.

“Shit! Shit, shit, shit. No, no, I’m fine. Just my nosy neighbor stalking me.”

“I was…I heard Smitty…” I lost my thought as I saw Claire and her raccoon eyes. She had rings of eye makeup under her puffy eyes, her nose bright red and her cheeks still wet.

“Listen, Laurie, I’ll talk to you tomorrow. I’m fine. It was a hard night, but really, it’s okay. Thanks for going with me.”

She disconnected the call and eyed me up, snatching the rock and the key from my hand. “What are you, breaking and entering now? First, my missing lightbulb, now what? You wanted to sniff my panties or something like that?”

I admired her ability to make a joke when she was obviously in a tremendous amount of pain, but I suspected it was more of a defense mechanism than anything else.

“You caught me!” I held my hands in the air.

“It’s not funny. I don’t get what you want with me. Shit, I keep saying that. Every time I see you. So, what is it? What do you want?”

I took in her jeans, a hole in one knee, and her black T-shirt. Probably a C cup and with beautiful rounded hips, Claire was most certainly a looker. I sounded like my dad for a quick second.

Her jeans clung to every curve. With her silky hair tied up in a messy knot and her makeup practically cried off, her cheeks ruddy, she looked closer to thirty, but I knew she was older than that.

“I’m waiting.” She went to stick the spare key in the door.

“Honestly, Smitty was staring at me from the window. He wanted to hang,” I said like an idiot. It wasn’t time for jokes.

“Sure, he was. Let’s ask him,” she flung back, opening the door so he could come barreling out.

I made note that she didn’t turn off an alarm.

Smitty bolted, immediately sniffing my toes, then rubbing his head against Claire’s leg.

Lucky dog.

“You all right?”

“Yep. As good as ever.” Claire refused to look at me.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.”

Smitty ran down the steps and lifted his leg on a bush and was back before I could think of what else to say.

“You sure? I don’t have anything better to do.”

“Let it go, Aiken. It’s been a long day, a bad day. Tomorrow’ll be better. Please…I’m sorry I’m so prickly. It’s been a rough one.” Her words ran together, eyes downcast, her brow wrinkled. I’d never wanted a woman more.

Problem was, I also wanted to comfort her, console her.

“Come on.” I gently gripped her elbow, opened the door, and guided her inside, Smitty on our heels. “I can’t let you go inside alone like this.”

“Such a gentleman. I’m fine, used to it, and you’re…I don’t even know what.”

“Neighbor. Potential friend. More?”

“I’m not in the mood for silly jokes, funny boy.”

Wanting to say, You started it, I decided against it.

She plopped onto a high-back barstool. The back door led directly into the kitchen. It was an old-fashioned one: white Formica countertops, black and white diamond floor tiles, red backsplash. It reminded me of a diner, especially the red leatherette underneath Claire’s ass.

Claire’s ass, which was doing an excellent job of drawing my attention, but so was her broken heart.

“Claire.” I leaned my hip into the corner of the island. She stared up at me, big brown eyes wet and glossy. “What?” Her voice was a defeated whisper.

“How ’bout some water? Coffee? Tea?”

She shook her head, but I prowled over to the cabinets and found a glass, filling it at the tap and setting it in front of her. Hip back against the counter, I said, “My mom…she was from around here…anyway, she walked out when I was four. Said she was visiting her grandma and never came back. My dad’s not been right since she vanished. As far back as I can remember, he’s been fucked up. I was so little when she left, I’ve never known him any other way. But I have to think at one point he was fun, loving. Mostly, he was lonely, sad, and distant when I was growing up. I know what loss looks like. What I’m saying…I know pain. I can be there for you.”

“I’m sorry for you, Aiken. I truly am.” She rubbed her forehead. “That must’ve been hard, growing up like that. But this is a pain you can’t possibly recognize. Seriously, let me wallow in my own shit.”

I moved closer, took her hand from her brow, and ran the backs of my knuckles over her cheek. “Want to try me?”

She shook her head again. “I want my girl back. My Abby. She was a good girl. Well-behaved, A-student, cute as a button, even with her dad’s face.” She sighed, and I watched the breath rise and fall in her chest.

Time stilled, the back of my palm remained on her wet cheek, her eyes remained focused on the tiles in front of her, the microwave blinked the time.

“Went to the cemetery today. Weeded, planted some flowers—lilac impatiens for the summer—and then sat there like a dumb fucking lump on a log. Pardon the French…Abby would’ve liked the purple. She wanted purple everything when she was little. Purple tutus, purple crystal headbands, bright violet nails and toenails when she got older. There was a time I hated purple. Couldn’t stand to look at anything else purple.”

Her skin was fair, light brown freckles smattered over her breast bone. I could make out her ribs under the skin of her slender chest, and I wanted to hold her tight to me—crush her, encapsulate her, make her feel better somehow.

Her chest took a long inhale, and I watched the breath whoosh out of her at the memory.

“We go there sometimes. Laurie—she lost her daughter the same night. She’s different than me, life of privilege, big farmhouse, doting husband, other kids, but we bonded after that awful night. The other two girls who went with them, they survived…their families moved…needed to get away. They don’t really stay in touch. Abby’s dad doesn’t go see her. He made a new life way before she was gone, so I guess it’s not a biggie or whatever. He didn’t always care before. Why should he care now? She was my everything. Even though it doesn’t seem that way…” Her words faded out at the end, her chest heavy with breath.

There was something heavy between us. Real, tangible, although I had no idea where the pull came from. It was a tug like I’d never felt before. A tethering.

She turned to face me. “I’m rambling for days. I do that. It’s nerves. I should know, this is what I do for a living, scrutinize people. I should examine myself. Or shut the hell up.”

If I could solve this for her, make it better, I would. But that wasn’t Claire. She wasn’t a woman you solved anything for—

“You’re not rambling. You’re getting it all out. And you’re right, I don’t know the kind of loss you suffered. I can’t possibly. But at some point, you have to keep the good memories alive. Let the pain go. I didn’t know Abby. Shit, I can’t even pretend to understand her inner and outer beauty, because that would take something away from your memory. But if I guessed, she must’ve been vibrant and alive and wouldn’t want you to act anything but alive.”

“You don’t get it. That night is burned in my memory. Sometimes I’m so consumed by it, it’s as if it’s happening all over again. I can’t even understand why I’m telling you all of this. As if it will make it any better. This is why I stick to myself, depend on nobody.”

“We all have demons surface, Claire. It’s what we do when they pop up, how we forge ahead, not letting them pull us down. Depending on nobody, like you say, sucks.”

“Again, I’m not sure you understand. I’d just taken a luxurious bath, felt like myself—a sensual woman—for the first time in a long while. I’d dozed off while reading one of my romance novels when the phone rang. Laurie told me to turn on the TV, screeching something about there not being an accident but an explosion.” Her fingers clenched on the counter, her eyes narrow slits at the memory.

I sat quietly, knowing she wasn’t finished.

“I can hear her saying, ‘Claire, are you looking?’ like it happened tonight. My name hung in her throat. Her words stung my ear. If I’m honest, that’s what I’m feeling now while telling you this. The burn, the raw feeling in my throat…it’s as if it’s happening all over again.”

My head felt as heavy as my heart as I listened to her.

“Claire—stop saying I don’t get it or I don’t understand. You’re right, it didn’t happen to me. How can I get it? I’m saying you deserve some happiness, a night off from all the demons.” I tried to stop her, even though I’d asked for this.

She waved me off, her eyes focused on a far-off place.

“My fingers shook as I turned on the TV, and fire blazed across the screen. I always watched channel five, so all I had to do was hit the power button, and the explosion was right there in front of me. There was the arena, the very same one I’d dropped the girls off at, except it hadn’t been on fire then. It was burning up, while a newscaster tried to get close, mumbling some bullshit about ‘determining the severity of the situation.’ I’d wanted to yell at the TV, but Laurie was yelling into my ear. ‘Claire! Claire! Are you there?’ She wouldn’t shut up so I could hear the TV.”

She stopped to take a breath, a sip of water, and I wound my fingers through hers.

“I kept asking Laurie, ‘Do you have the girls?’ I knew it was wishful thinking, but I had to ask. She didn’t. She kept screaming until finally she saw Shelby and breathed hope into me. Hope that Abby was somewhere there too. Maybe her phone had died, or she got swept up in a crowd running toward another exit.”

I squeezed her hand, trying to get her out of this horrible trance. She gave me a quick look and continued.

“Before I knew it, I was shrugging on jeans and throwing on a bra. I didn’t even stop to let Smitty out…just ran out the door and jumped into my dependable car, saying a mental fuck-you to the seat belt. I’d had the damn SUV since the divorce. It was the only constant in my life other than Abby and Smit. It was a big deal that that Goddamn rapper even came here. It had been in the news for weeks. Our brand-spanking-new basketball arena was sure to draw in many more big-time names. And you see, when I drove over there, I only prayed to every God I knew that the place didn’t swallow up my baby girl. That’s what torments me.”

“Christ, Claire, I can see how you would be tortured, but it’s been a few years. You have to let some of the pain go. You can’t live your life chasing ghosts.”

She turned to me, fire in her eyes. “Is that what you’re doing? Coming to the town where your mom is from? Chasing ghosts?”

Her eyes continued to flare and burn into mine, and I felt all sorts of shit.

Empathy, freedom, lust.

I was a jumbled, mixed-up bag of emotions, and then my lips met hers. Mine a bit rough, hers soft and supple. I waited for a slap or her body to pull back, but neither came. I nudged her legs apart with my knee and wrestled my way between her thighs, ran my hand over the back of her hair, and held tight to her neck. She breathed out her own flavor mixed with mint, and my tongue sought entrance.

“Aiken,” she whispered, but didn’t stop kissing me back.

“You taste…oh God, Claire.”

“Aiken, please…”

“Please what?”

Our lips kissed, mumbled one another’s names against one another, and locked like two savages again.

She finally pulled back. “We have to stop.”

“I don’t want to, but I will.”

My mouth let go and pulled away, disgruntled with me.

My forehead met hers as her name came out of my mouth. “Claire…”

“What are we doing? What do you do? Student? What? Tell me.” She held her gaze on the floor, rapid-firing the questions.

My voice croaked, “Not a student. I did school in Indiana, a trade school on computer programming. I’m here on my own. Grown-ass man and all that. I’m old enough to know what I’m doing, what I want. I feel something deep with you…it’s buried in my gut, pulling me to you. Some raw need to be with you. You must sense it?”

Pulling her forehead from mine, she stared at me.

“How old are you?”

“Thirty, for Christ’s sake. Like I said, a grown-ass man, Claire.”

“This is crazy.” She hopped off the stool and side-stepped around me. “Thanks for checking on me, but you have to go—I’m a college professor. This isn’t right even if you’re not a student.”

Halfway out the back door, I turned. “What isn’t right? Moving on? I’d even settle for second place with a woman like you. Is having a life so fucking bad, Claire?”

I didn’t wait for an answer.