Chase The Butterflies

by Monica James

  He watches me closely, and when I’m graced with a sexy, slow smirk, I feel my cheeks heat and my legs get heavy. My original thought of him being trouble has just been confirmed. But funnily enough, I’m reveling in the disorder.

  “Unless you know how to unclog my pipes, you’re wasting my time.” Charley snorts while I feel my cheeks burst into flames. That probably wasn’t the best thing to say as it sounded awfully flirty. I didn’t even know I could do flirty. But I just did, and even though I’m mortified beyond belief, it actually felt kind of liberating.

  Jude smirks; his longer canines making him appear sweet, but dangerous all at the same time. “It’s been a while since I’ve unclogged anyone’s pipes, but I’ll try my best.” This situation really can’t get any more embarrassing, as I think we’re talking in innuendoes. I remove my wrist, thankful when he lets me go.

  It’s impossible to look over his broad shoulder, even if I stand on tippy toes, so I playfully shove past him while he chuckles. The moment I walk down the dock, I remember him pushing the chair into the water like it weighed nothing at all.

  “Thanks again for helping me last night,” I say over my shoulder.

  I see that he’s followed me. He remains pensive before he replies, “No problem. Try not to set anything else on fire, though.” He winks, and I redden once again.

  “Hold up,” Charley says, reminding me that we’ve got company as she also joins us. “What do you mean, anything else? What have you set on fire?” She stands near me, grinning curiously.

  “Well…” I rub the back of my neck. “I sort of set a chair on fire,” I shamefully confess.

  “Sort of?” Jude exclaims. “Those flames would have been seen by the good Lord himself.”

  “Oh, shut up.” Without thinking, I playfully slap his arm. A stunned wheeze escapes me when my hand is met with solid, contoured, defined muscle.

  I remove my hand with lightning-quick speed, feeling my heart thump to a wound-up drumbeat.

  “What are you doing next weekend?” Charley asks a second later.

  Jude appears to be mentally calculating through his plans. “Nothing really.”

  “Fantastic, because we’re having a housewarming at Tori’s place. You should come.” I’m still standing wordless, watching the conversational ping pong bounce between Jude and Charley.

  I don’t know whether I should thank her or cuss her out, but when Jude grins, I know I owe her a thank you for seeing that smile once again. “Sure, I’d love to come.”

  Before I have a chance to even get my head around anything, Charley is entering my cell number into Jude’s phone. I need to speak up. I need to thank him for getting rid of the evidence, but there will be no housewarming because I’m busy—busy attempting to piece my life back together.

  “There is no house…”

  But I’m rudely cut off when Charley interrupts me. “There is no housewarming without lots of food and beer. Make sure you come with a big appetite for fun.”

  I don’t even bother correcting her because she’s thought this all through.

  “Okay, I’ll be there,” Jude says, watching me closely. “Just let me know the details.” He holds up his phone, cementing the fact he has my number and can call or text anytime he wants.

  My breath gets caught in my throat, and I’m suddenly finding it hard to breathe. “I need to run to the store.” My voice is high pitched and flighty, revealing I’m seconds away from crumbling into a mess.

  Jude nods, his watchful eyes most likely detecting my apprehension. His insight into my discomfort makes me spin abruptly and march briskly to the stairs. I charge up them, needing to hide away from those inquisitive eyes. Sadly, my dilapidated home decides to surrender, and the moment I climb the second to last step, it caves out beneath me. I trip forward as one leg is dangling through the hole where the rickety step once sat.

  “Holy shit!” I curse, desperately clutching at the unsteady railing, attempting to pull myself up before I fall straight through. Just as I boost myself up, a set of strong arms wraps around my middle, lifts me up, and walks me to safe ground. It happens quite quickly, and I’m too indebted to Jude for saving my life to realize he has his arms folded across my chest.

  It takes my brain all of three seconds to realize this is the first time I’ve allowed anyone to touch me in months. As I think about why that is, hot, angry tears sting my eyes. I latch onto his wrist and force his arm off me. I find my footing on solid ground while Jude wobbles and latches onto the railing.

  “Whoa! Is that any way to thank me for saving your life?” He regains his balance, standing inches away.

  I know he’s joking and trying to make light of the sudden stale mood, but I never asked him to be my knight in shining armor. I moved out here to get away from uncomfortable situations such as this one.

  I don’t want complications. I just want simple. And the way I feel when I’m around Jude is anything but simple. I don’t know why, but I just know he’s trouble.

  “Thank you,” I bark. Even to my ears, it sounds abrupt. “But no one asked you to. I don’t need you coming to my rescue. I can look after myself.”

  A frown quickly replaces Jude’s smile. His walls are firmly erected as he replies, “Don’t worry, it won’t happen again.”

  “Good.” I’m rocking the shit out of my resting bitch face right now.

  We stand staring at one another, the tension crackling between us. He doesn’t hide his annoyance at my discourtesy, and a small part of me is annoyed at myself for being so closed off to a friendship with this man. He’s been nothing but nice to me, going out of his way to be neighborly, and all I’ve done is behave like a crazy person.

  “I’ll see you around, Victoria,” he says, breaking the silence. I nod, afraid of what my voice would sound like if I replied. He gives me one final look before darting down the stairs, two at a time, to avoid the missing step.

  When he’s no longer in sight, I gingerly meet Charley’s stare. I know what she’s about to say, but I don’t want to hear it. “Save it, Charley.”

  Of course, she doesn’t listen and charges up the steps to stop me from going inside and locking her out. “Tori, there’s nothing wrong with you making friends. I understand it’s too early for you to be thinking about a relationship, but Jude, or any other guy for that matter, is not Bryan.”

  His name is akin to nails running down a blackboard and my mood is further sullied. “It doesn’t matter either way. I’m not interested in getting to know anybody. I moved out here for a fresh start, and that start doesn’t include my snooping neighbor.”

  “He was hardly snooping,” she corrects. “He was just being nice.”

  “Well, he can be nice on his side of the lake.” My tone has more bite than I intended, but I know Charley. If I don’t stress how strongly I feel about this, she’ll play cupid and end up inviting him over for dinner. “I’m going into town. Do you need anything?”

  She reads my dismissal but smirks. “I don’t need anything, but you may want to pop into the animal shelter.” When I cock a puzzled brow, she clarifies, “Because at this rate, you’re going to need an army of cats to fill your crazy cat lady quota.”

  Playfully rolling my eyes, I enter my home, but not before replying over my shoulder, “Lucky for me, cats don’t talk back.”

  My beat-up Honda coughs out a black cloud of smoke as I kill the engine. I’m actually surprised it made the leg over here and that I didn’t need to call AAA. As I exit my car, I understand why they call this part of the state The Quiet Corner. The semi-rural town is more rustic than suburbia, and I love it. It’s the exact reason I chose to move here. With the population coming in at just over twelve thousand, it’s large enough not to be noticed, but small and boring enough that folks just keep driving by.

  The quiet stretch of dated stores provides the essentials for a one-stop shop. There are a few people going about their daily duties, hands filled with groceries, busy to get from point A to B. I
lower my head, not interested in getting to know my fellow townsfolk, because after this morning, I really just want to be left alone. I know it can’t stay this way forever because if I want to get back into teaching, then I’ll have no other choice but to socialize. But for now, I’m content being in my own company.

  The bell above the glass door chimes as I enter the musty smelling store. It’s bigger than I thought it would be, and I’m thrilled to see they have a small furniture section to the far left. The trailer I rented was big enough to fit the spare double bed, a bar fridge, a few boxes, and the infamous chair, which is now no longer. I can’t help but think about where it sits, sunken to the bottom of the lake. I also can’t help but think about the reason it’s no longer in my yard.

  Shaking my head, hoping to dispel all thoughts of Jude, I smile politely at the uninterested blonde teenager behind the register engrossed in her gossip magazine. My eyes are instantly drawn to a blood red chesterfield throne. The gold border with its carved, intricate pattern is completely lavish and totally unnecessary, but I want it. White stuffing is poking through a small tear in the arm, but the imperfection contrasts the flawlessness of my previous chair, and for some unexplained reason, it’s perfect. There isn’t a price tag, so I do a quick sweep of the store, grabbing a chipped dinner set, some glasses, and a few other kitchen supplies.

  With both hands filled, I place everything onto the counter, disturbing the jaded girl. “How much for all of this and that dining table and chairs…and that red seat?”

  In response, she pops her pink gum and continues reading her magazine.

  “Is twenty-five dollars all right?”

  When she chooses to ignore me, I reach into my back pocket and place the cash onto the counter. Just as I’m about to ask if this amount suffices, the phone rings. She answers it and turns her back to me, giggling at whatever the caller just said.

  Well, that was rude, but I shouldn’t expect much less, as there isn’t an app for manners.

  Once I’m done boxing up my kitchenware, I tackle the table and chairs, which are much lighter than I thought. Carrying them to the trailer is easy enough; it’s the damn seat that provides the challenge, as it’s heavier than I thought it would be. It’s also awkward to carry.

  I take a deep breath and haul the chair with everything I have. The fact I need another to replace the one I burned spurs me on, and before I know it, I’m stumbling out the door. Stopping for just a second, I use my adrenaline punch to lift it up and place it alongside the table and chairs in the trailer. Locking the doors, I place my hands on my hips and bend low, gulping in fresh air and filling my depleted lungs.

  I hate that I’m still so weak. The doctors said this was natural, that it’ll take a while for my body to be what it once was. I used to be a runner, fastest in track, but now I can barely climb a set of stairs without gasping for breath. Well, that stops today. I have a lake right outside my home. As of tomorrow, I’m going to see how many miles it is to the other side of the lake.

  I’m no longer a victim. I survived for a reason, and that reason was to live.

  When I hear the unkind, appalling words, “Hey, retard,” my living starts right now.

  Up ahead, I see a small group of teenage boys, who look like wannabe James Deans, surrounding a younger boy. He is clearly terrified, thumping his little fists against them, desperate to escape. But the circle around him grows tighter and smaller, imprisoning him in a cage of five callous bullies.

  “Retard, give me your money!”

  “He doesn’t have any money. His dad is a deadbeat.”

  “I’m sure his grandpa gave him some cash.” They continue to taunt, pushing and shoving him until he’s screaming, attempting to break free. When the biggest of the group pushes him so hard he falls to the ground with a sickening thud, I see red.

  “Hey!” I shout, charging over. My warning falls on deaf ears, however, and only seems to encourage them to be crueler.

  They bend low and begin a malicious chant. “Retard! Retard! Retard!” This has the petrified boy curling into a ball as he begins crying.

  “Stop it, you little buggers! Leave him alone.” I yank at the arm of the ringleader, who spins around, stunned that someone is reprimanding him.

  My threat thankfully has some impact, and I shove past them and tend to the crying boy on the pavement. I crouch down in front of him. “Hello. My name is Victoria. I won’t hurt you. Are you okay?”

  But he doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even appear to hear me.

  Deciding that touch may be the best form of therapy, I gently place my palm on his back. Sadly, it doesn’t have the effect I’d hoped for. He springs up, his blue eyes wide as he screams. The screech is deafening, almost off-key. When he begins mumbling guttural sounds, I know why he didn’t respond to my words.

  “See, told you he’s a retard.”

  Turning to glare at all of them, I spit, “What is the matter with you? He’s deaf! Now go away before I walk over to that corner store and ask where you all live. I’m sure your parents will be interested to know that you’ve all skipped school.” That shuts them up real quick, and they eventually turn and leave.

  I don’t know sign language, but his minimal language skills make me believe he’s been deaf for a long while. “Hi.” I place up my hand. “I’m Victoria. What’s your name?” I’m hoping he can read my lips, but he cocks his head to the side, frightened.

  My soul weeps for this brown-haired, blue-eyed boy. “Where’s your mommy?” The word which hurts my heart seems to do the same to the boy, whose lower lip trembles. “You’ve lost your mommy?” I ask, trying to piece this puzzle together. When he continues staring at me, watching my lips closely, I repeat, “Mommy? You’ve lost her?”

  As I extend my hand out to comfort him, he suddenly jumps up and slaps my arm away. I pull back, stunned. What did I say? Just as I open my mouth, ready to ask about his mom, he shakes his head violently and screams. The force of the sound has me jarring backward, confused about what I said that has set him off.

  I don’t have time to find out, though, because before I say another word, he pushes past me and runs down the sidewalk and around behind the corner store. I shoot up and follow in hot pursuit, afraid he’s going to get himself hurt. But when I turn the corner, he’s vanished into dense woodlands.

  “Shit!” I curse, debating whether I should follow. Bearing in mind the last time I tried to comfort him backfired, I think the wise thing to do would be to call the police. Sprinting back to the thrift shop, the bell whines as I shove open the door.

  “Can you please call the police?” My desperate plea doesn’t rattle her in the slightest. Annoyed with her apathy, I explain, “A little boy, around eight years old, just ran off into the woods. I’m concerned about him, as he was clearly upset.” She blows a pink bubble, it pops, just like my last nerve. “And he’s deaf! Call the police now. Please. He could be in trouble. Or he might get lost.”

  She yawns, my melodramatics apparently boring her. Just as I’m about to reach over the counter and call 911 myself, an older lady strolls in. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Silverdale.”

  “Hello, Brittney. Can you call the station? Young Angus has run off into the woods again.”

  Brittney nods, frowning. “Sure.” She reaches under the counter, producing an old-fashioned phone. The rustic charm is now grating on my nerves.

  When I hear her ask for the sheriff, I know that’s my cue to leave. I have no desire to meet my neighbor, especially when I quite possibly might have scared a hearing-impaired little boy into the woods. And if by chance the sheriff smelled the weed wafting over the waters or caught a glimpse of the flaming inferno outside his window, then I’ll definitely be in his bad books. I don’t need to add this to the mix. I’m out the door before she hangs up.

  On the short drive home, I can’t help but think that for a town labeled The Quiet Corner, I sure as hell have created a thunderous noise.

  Birds fly from their perches as I
curse like a sailor.

  Buying this chair may have seemed like a good idea at the time, but now I’m wishing I’d bought the fondue set instead. I have managed to get it out of the trailer, but dragging it across my overgrown lawn and to the front door is the problem.

  “You better feel like clouds under my bum.” I’m huffing and puffing, determined to get this thing inside, but it’s not budging an inch.

  Needing a break, I head inside for a glass of water. My cell sounds, indicating I have a voice message. Reaching for it off the counter, I dial voicemail, hoping it’s someone with some muscle to help me on my quest.

  But it’s not.

  The pause should have hinted at who the caller is.

  “…Tori, please listen. I…this is hard for me, too. We never meant to hurt you. We both missed you so much. I talk to you every day even though I know you won’t talk back. I’m sorry, please forgive me. I need you. I miss my sister. Please…”

  My fingers tremble as I end the call. I’ve heard enough. I just can’t deal with this…ever.

  Matilda’s voice brings back so many memories and her excuses cement the fact that she and Bryan are dead to me. I won’t cry. A treacherous tear spills free, but I wipe it away quickly.

  Needing a distraction, I finish my water and head back outside. With a new surge of adrenaline, I pick up the chair. However, when I hear, “Do you need a hand?” my determination turns to gratitude because I’m only going to make it a few more steps.

  Peering around the chair, my appreciation turns to dread when I see a tall, fairly attractive, older gentleman in uniform. In my utter shock, my grip loosens, and I drop the chair leg onto my foot. “You little bastard!” I shout, shooting up and hopping around as I grab my injured foot. It’s a knee-jerk reaction, but probably not the best to have, seeing as I have a police officer staring at me like I’ve lost my mind.