by Scott, Kylie
What’s that saying about people who can’t remember the past being doomed to repeat it?
“I’m getting in the shower, then we’ll see about getting you to work,” he says. “Later, baby.”
“That’s the third time you’ve called me baby.”
“It won’t be the last,” he says with such certainty it warms not only my heart but everywhere.
“Did you used to call me that?”
“Yeah, I did. Is that a problem?”
“No.” I shake my head. Maybe a moment came in our breakdown when any talk of ‘baby’ was no longer possible, but if the term of endearment relates to good memories for him then it’s fine. “Not at all.”
“Good to know.” And he’s gone, padding down the hallway toward the bathroom.
“You’re the worst for interrupting and being sensible,” I inform Leif, who doesn’t even have the good grace to appear upset at the news.
“Sensible, shmensible,” he says. “That was just good old-fashioned cock-blocking. It’s pretty much the only enjoyable part of being a sibling.”
He raises his cup of coffee to me in toast. I salute him back with my own cup. It doesn’t seem worth holding a grudge over. Besides, he probably is right. Dammit. If only my heart would stop racing from all the overexcitement.
* * *
We hold hands on the walk to work. The sun is shining and I’m happy. Actually, I’m jam-packed full of joy, all of my worrying pushed aside for the moment. It’s a warning sign in and of itself. Little in my new life up until now has been what you’d call easy. And the familiar old feeling of paranoia comes roaring back when I see Iris in a frenzy trying to clean the shop’s front window, a rag and bottle of glass cleaner in hand. She’s scowling heavily. Not her usual expression of contentment at all.
“That’s my job,” I say.
“Guess you’re getting let off washing windows today.”
A man who could only be Iris’s beau Antonio comes out with a scraper type tool and holy shit. Now I see what the problem is. The glass has been covered in black. Not just the window but some of the pavement below. It’s like they threw a whole can of paint at the shop front. A big can. It’s one hell of a mess.
“What the fuck?” I gasp.
“What the fuck indeed,” says Iris, giving me a dour smile. “Vandals these days. You know, at least when they spray their tag on something I can pretend its art. This, however . . .”
“What can we do to help?” asks Ed.
“Oh, nothing. It’ll be fine.” Iris sighs. “But thank you. A neighboring shop owner saw it and called me first thing this morning, so the police have already been by. Unfortunately, whoever did it was wearing a hoodie and had face coverage, so the security camera didn’t get much. It appeared they might have been planning on doing more damage; there were a couple of attempts to kick the door in. Ridiculous, really, they just would have set off the alarm. Though I suppose they could have done some damage in the meantime. But thankfully it seems they got interrupted by late-night revelers or such. Clementine, are you all right, dear?”
Not really. Everything inside of me feels heavy with dread. “This is because of me.”
“Well, it would seem someone disagreed with your display of gardening books. I did think at the time it was a little edgy.” She smiles, but the attempt at humor feels strained.
“No. It really is about me, and not because of Frances being a cop at all. It’s about who I am. Or who I was.”
She pauses. “We don’t know that.”
“Hey, calm down. It’s just paint.” Ed’s hand slides around behind my neck, rubbing at the suddenly rock-hard muscles. “Iris is right, baby. We don’t know anything for sure.”
“First the attack, then my car, and now this? Really?”
“Clem—”
“How many coincidences do you need?”
He grimaces.
Fair enough. My voice sounds shrill to my own ears. I take a deep breath and let it out slow. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. But it’s a message, Ed, and it means that me being here is probably not safe. We don’t know what they might do next. What if they come back? What if they get violent again and someone gets hurt?”
The expression on Iris’s face is somewhere between concern and dismay. So I’m not being completely crazy. Some of this is making sense. That’s even more concerning.
Ed, however, is shaking his head. “You need to calm down.”
“No, I’m serious. What if next time you get hurt? I’d never forgive myself.” I take a step back, putting myself out of reach. It’s better for everyone. If whatever this is spills over onto the people I care about I’ll never forgive myself. “This . . . this isn’t good.”
“Don’t you dare,” he says, grabbing my arms. His grip is strong. “I agree; this is a worry. I get why you’re freaking out. But don’t you dare use it as an excuse to disappear on me again.”
“But maybe it would be best if I left for just a—”
“No.”
One of us is probably being unreasonable. With fear making my heart pound and mind race, I’m not sure which of us it is, however.
“Do you hear me?” he asks, leaning in close. “Absolutely fucking not. We’ll deal with this together, okay?”
I don’t know what to say or do.
“Nod your head, Clem.”
After a moment, I do as I’m told. “Fine.”
“Now breathe,” he orders, arms coming around me, pulling me in against his hard body. The scent and heat of him all helps. For me, he’s a living and breathing sanctuary and being wrapped up in him this way is heaven. It’s a bit scary to need him this much. No, I only want him. Lots. But if he left, if he changed his mind, I’d manage. I just really fucking hope he doesn’t. “Just breathe. It’ll be okay.”
“Why don’t you take her home, Ed?” suggests Iris.
“Thank you, Iris. But I’m fine now and I’d rather stay and help.” The worst thought occurred to me. “Unless you’d rather me not be here?”
“Of course not.” She clicks her tongue in disapproval. “In that case, stop hanging off your lovely man and get to work.”
“I’ll cancel my appointments for today, stay here with you,” says Ed.
I look up. “No, don’t do that.”
Some people make those appointments months in advance. Ed’s tattooing talents are in high demand. Plus, I’m already complicating his home life. I’d rather not screw with his work life too.
“I’m not leaving you like this,” he says.
“I’m okay. Really, Ed, it’s broad daylight. Everything that’s happened so far has all been at night.”
Doubt fills his gaze.
“You’re right; it’s just paint. Whatever it does or doesn’t mean, they’ve probably done all they’re going to do for now. I’ll be fine.”
“Promise me you won’t go off on your own.”
“I promise I’ll be safety conscious, yes.” Up on tippy-toes, I give him a kiss. “Go to work. I’ll be okay. If it is the same person, at least they seem to be sort of de-escalating. Perhaps next time they’ll just send me a sternly worded letter.”
“Glad you’ve still got your sense of humor, but I’m not ready to laugh about this yet.”
Iris, however, is good to go. “A sonnet expressing their displeasure, perhaps?”
“Maybe a cutting limerick?”
She grins with glee. “How about an abrasive haiku?”
“A bad fortune cookie?”
“All right.” Ed shakes his head. “If you need me, call me. You’ve got your cell?”
“Yes, and I will.”
“I’ll be back at six. On the dot. You better let Frances know about this as well or she’ll lose her shit.”
“True.”
“And you’re definitely not going off wandering on your own.” His gaze is so serious. “I’ve got your word on that, right, Clem?”
“You make me sound like some out of control toddler,”
I half-joke. “What’s wrong, don’t you trust me?”
It’s the sudden lack of expression on his face that clues me in. The careful blankness with which I’m now being regarded.
Beside us, Iris is suddenly occupied with the window.
“Hey,” I say, attempting a smile. “You can trust me. If I say I’ll do something, I’ll do it.”
He does not look convinced, though he’s doing his best to hide it. “Sure. If you’re okay here, I better get moving.”
“See you tonight.”
With a final kiss to my forehead and one final murmured “just be careful, baby” he’s gone. So that didn’t go so well. Guess the word trust should be shelved from all further conversation.
Iris shoves a paint scraper and a bottle of turpentine at me and I get busy cleaning up the mess. The paint is already half-dried. Iris and Antonio have washed away most of the still-moist stickiness, so we are now left with the hardened underside. After a while, Antonio has to go open the gelato shop and Iris is occupied with customers inside the bookstore, so I’m on my own. It’s hard work. Of course it is. If you’re going to vandalize a shop window by splashing paint on it, you’re not going to use any nice water-based acrylic. No, sir. You’re going to use some nasty oil-based enamel that only comes off with paint stripper, elbow grease, and what seems like an infinite amount of turpentine.
I pop in my earbuds and put on some music while, inch by inch, I reclaim Iris’s shop windows from the vandal’s work. Because fuck them. Whoever they might be and for whatever reason they might be doing this. I’m not running or going into hiding. Sure, flight might have been my first response. No way, however, will I give them the satisfaction. I’m building a life here. One hopefully including Ed. And that’s worth fighting for. Though I should probably start hitting up the relationship section of the shop once we’ve got the glass sorted. Oh God, the drama of having a love life. I’m not sure my heart can take it. Organizing an existence with other people in it, especially a romantic interest, is so much harder than just hanging out with Frances and ordering pizza. Those were the days.
Also, if whoever is doing this is trying to scare me into doing some stupid, then taking off on my own probably definitely falls under that category, now that I stop and think about it. Ed was right. Of course Ed was right. He’s a smart guy. Truth is, the man is worth any amount of emotional mayhem and occasional commotion.
Soon my life is consumed by the shop window, the awful smell of enamel paint, and the fine sounds of my playlist. It’s the main song list that previous me made. I’ve listened to it a few times now and it’s good. Just like her favorite movies, some of her music is from the eighties too. I guess that’s what Mom grew up listening to. Songs like “When Doves Cry” by Prince, “Bizarre Love Triangle” by New Order, and “Love is a Battlefield” by Pat Benatar top the list. Maybe I’ll never know my mother in the way that I used to. Actually, it’s a definite, given she’s dead. But I can still get a feeling for her through the photos and stories, the movies and songs. We don’t have to be total strangers. Next the music moves onto more recent decades with songs like “The Scientist” by Cold Play, “Dancing on My Own” by Robyn, “Do I Wanna Know” by Arctic Monkeys, “Wasted on Each Other” by James Bay, and “River” by Bishop Briggs. A brief wrap-up of the last twenty or so years. But mostly, whether recent or ancient, it’s all pretty new to me.
I wonder if I used to like dancing or if I’d ever learned to play an instrument. It would be cool to just sit down at a piano and know what to do. Though Frances probably would have mentioned something if I was a secret virtuoso. Every kid usually has a couple of hobbies, however. I’ll have to ask. There had been a photo of me in a middle school play portraying a tree. But what with me not being particularly graceful, I doubt ballet or something cool like that would have been high on my list of after-school activities. Some sports, maybe? Gordy likes the way I throw a ball. Though even with the doggy slobber, he’s still a way better catch than me.
At any rate, slowly but surely the worst of my worry is pushed back as the music and contemplating the past takes over. But it always lingers just a little. Fear of so many things, both the known and unknown, casting a shadow over my world. Maybe I’ll never know what it’s like to live without the anxiety. Maybe there’ll always be things to be unsure of. Then again, maybe that’s just a part of life.
Finally, the work is done. My arms ache, and the skin on my hands is splotched an ugly white and red, but I have erased the stain on Iris’s life that had been put there because of me.
I make my way inside. It’s time to attend to the real business of the morning. “I want to see the video, please.”
Iris’s lips tighten, but I can tell she’s been expecting this request. “I told you everything that was in it. You can’t see anything more.”
“I know. But I have to see it anyway.” My voice stays quiet and calm, not giving her any reason to deny me. “Is it here, or did the police take it?”
“It’s still here.” She sighs. “The police just copied it onto a flash drive.”
Soon enough, I’m sitting in the back room, fast-forwarding through grainy black-and-white footage to get to 1:46 a.m. And then there it is: a figure walking past the entrance. All you can really see is the hoodie, with the hood up covering everything, and what looks like jeans or sneakers. For all my squinting into the screen, it’s hard to make out much else. The figure looks kind of slim and tall, but with the weird camera angle, looking downwards at them, it’s hard to tell with any certainty. So that’s just great. I’ve narrowed down my list of suspects to everyone in the world with two arms and two legs. Good thing it was my sister who went into the police force and not me.
The figure has the can of paint already out, held by the handle. It’s heavy, obviously. A big 20-liter one—but I knew that even without seeing the video, courtesy of having to bust my ass cleaning it all up.
Our friendly neighborhood vandal does a pretty good job of splashing the paint onto the window. Maybe this isn’t their first rodeo. Then it goes up to the front door and tries to kick it in twice. No luck there. One hand disappears inside the big jacket, as if reaching for something, but then the head jerks hard left, as if the figure heard something. And then it’s gone, picking up the empty paint can and slipping away into the night.
Iris told me I wouldn’t be able to see anything more, and she was right. I rewind the tape and slo-mo through the moment where the figure hears the sound, and the hoodie twists as the head turns. I try and convince myself there’s something visible there, perhaps a flash of chin or nose. But it’s really just a couple of pale pixels in a sea of fuzzy gray.
But that doesn’t stop me watching and rewatching the figure. Rewind. Play. Slo-mo.
My heart thumps in my chest as I stare into the footage. Maybe the figure is unrecognizable. But that doesn’t seem to matter. Because for the first time I am actually seeing them, the person who’s out to ruin me. It’s not just some crazy paranoia or a figment of my imagination. I feel sure of it. It’s a real human being out to get me and I’m watching them right now. A crazy cocktail of fear and anger swirls in my stomach.
Rewind. Play. Slo-mo.
* * *
“She’s still here? What not a surprise.” Tessa is sitting on the front steps to Ed’s condo when we return that evening. Her boyfriend, Nevin, is rubbing her shoulders. The boy needs to work harder, however, because she still looks stressed as fuck. If she isn’t, I sure as hell am.
“Clem,” says Shannon, the receptionist from the parlor, leaning on the stair rail beside them. “Hey.”
“Hi.” I raise a hand in greeting.
“You’re early,” says Ed, calm as can be. Obviously he was expecting them and didn’t warn me. I try to keep a blank face. Try.
“Damn.” Nevin laughs. “She’s just as happy to see us as we are to see her. This was a great idea, Ed. Seriously, man, good work.”
“It’s pizza night. This is what we
always do.” Ed frowns ever so slightly. “Clem, it’s not a problem they’re here, is it?”
“No. Absolutely not. All good.”
Tessa laughs. “Oh, your fake smile is awful. You might want to work on that.”
“It is fine. I just wasn’t expecting . . .” The words trail off and I shut my mouth. Mostly, I feel tired.
“Tessa, give her a break,” says Ed. “She’s had a shit day, okay?”
Immediately, Tessa groans. “All right, all right. I heard about the paint thing at your work. Did you get it cleaned up okay?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “Thanks.”
Ed frowns. “Leif should be home.”
“No answer when we buzzed.” Nevin gets to his feet and holds out his hand. Ed throws the keys to him. Then the visitors head inside, giving Ed and I a moment alone.
“Sorry I didn’t warn you,” he says. “They’re normally over once a week for dinner and drinks. I thought it might be a welcome distraction from everything that’s been going on.”
“It’s okay. Really. Just a surprise. But is me being here okay?”
“Absolutely. You sure?”
“Yes. I mean, it’s great that you have such close friends.”
“They’re your friends too.”
I give him the look of much disbelief.
“All right, so there’s some tension between you and Tessa right now. You’ll work it out. Just give it a chance, okay?” His hand kneads the back of my neck, turning me into agreeable mush. No wonder Nevin had been doing it to Tessa. What a superpower. Such magical strong fingers put to great use. Lord only knows the sort of things Ed could make me agree to when he’s touching me this way. His lips brush over my jawline all warm and perfect like. “You with me, Clem? And then later, when they’re gone . . .”
