The Hemlock Girl

by C. L. Heckman

  The Hemlock Girl

  C. L. Heckman

  Text Copyright © 2019 C. L. Heckman

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, businesses places or incidents is purely coincidental or used fictitiously.

  Prologue

  My car pulls up to the white picket fence, coasting into ‘my spot’. The grass has grown back over the years, and the shrubs now touch the sides of my car rather than just threaten me with their branches. The engine cuts off, and I wait a moment before my eyes gaze away from the steering wheel. With a deep breath, the scent of hemlock trees curl into my nose and trigger a vault of memories I had locked away deep in my soul. So many nights I sat in this very spot, waiting for any member of our crew to grace me with their presence.

  A robust wind slides through the forest, and convinces dying foliage to gently cascade toward the ground. A red-maple leaf, outlined with a golden hue, lands on my windshield. I stare at it for a moment before the sight of his house pulls me away. Its wooden frame is covered with faded green siding. The roof has begun to buckle in spots and a few shingles have broken off. The amount of change that has taken place in a decade has got me questioning the reliability of my memories.

  Rays of sunlight bounce off of the water in the distance, begging me to come closer. Unbuckling my seatbelt, I pull the keys from the ignition and begin to open the door. There’s an emotion that I can’t explain crawling up my spine. Saliva pools in my mouth as my heartrate increases. Before my mind convinces my body to flee, I force myself out of the car and meander down the road toward the beach.

  The autumn leaves have lined the road. Red, yellow, and orange colors dust the crackling pavement, crunching beneath my feet. Hesitantly, I make my way down the hill, wondering if I still belong here. Even though I never lived at Hemlock, it was a colossal part of my life. I never imagined it would’ve been gone as fast as it came along.

  It’s hard to believe we are all in our late twenties now -- living our lives as functioning adults with careers and families of our own. Some of us have kids; kids that weren’t blessed to grow up the way we did; to build the memories we got to build.

  Under my arm, rests a jewelry box – however, there is something far more valuable inside than gold or silver, put there exactly ten years ago by the six of us. Now, we will be forced to unveil its contents in front of one another whether we like it or not – that was the deal.

  I round the corner and the sandy beach is finally in view.

  Dakota greets me with a wave of her hand. “Oh, Karissa! It’s been so long!” she proclaims with a warm hug. Her chocolate hair has been chopped off and styled into a wave-like mound on the top of her head. Tattoos fill her left arm but I barely get to see them before it disappears around my back, squeezing me tightly.

  I melt into her embrace, “It’s so nice to see you, too!”

  We spent countless nights on this beach. Some sober, some not. Some clothed, some not so much. There are memories that I will cherish forever and some that would be ok to forget. This sand has traveled in my car to various places; it has been packed in my suitcases and lodged between my toes. It holds a piece of me that I’ll never replace, and I’m so glad to be home.

  Keith attacks me with a side-hug. “It’s been way too long, Riss,” he exclaims as his six-foot tall, 250 pound body engulfs me before I can resist. I lean in, as tears from an array of emotions fill my eyes. I force a smile to prevent the inevitable, and allow Keith to hold me just a little while longer.

  Keith finally releases his grip, and I meander over toward an empty chair to take a seat.

  Standing by the hemlock tree, Paul glances toward me. A ring now hangs on his left finger, and a petite, brown-haired girl stands beside him. He offers a slight wave, and I decide to stop in my tracks instead of walking any further. My body falls into the chair. I lie back, and stare at the sky. Memories pile on top of me so quickly that I can’t digest them fast enough. One of my first feelings of love happened right here on this beach. Our initials are carved in that tree whose roots are now exposed to the water of the lake. Tiny waves from the wind are crashing onto the shore, and I wonder how many more years it’ll be until our tree succumbs to the erosion. Dakota sits across from me, her hand wrapped around her fiancée’s thigh. The smell of burning wood swirls through the air, and I’m taken back to that night, exactly ten years ago. I quickly divert my attention before I’m swept away in the thoughts of what could have been.

  “Well, now that everyone is here, let’s get started,” Keith states as he motions for me to hand him the box. “Are you ready?” he whispers.

  I reluctantly nod my head, “As ready as I can be, I suppose.”

  “I’ll read mine first,” Keith exclaims, pulling a piece of blue paper from the shoe box and unfolding it in his lap. “It says: In ten years, I’ll be rich,” he laughs, pulling his empty pockets inside out. “Guess I was wrong.”

  Keith passes the box to Dakota. “Your turn!”

  Dakota laughs, “I’m a little nervous to read mine.”

  Her fiancée, Kali, nudges her with an elbow to the rib. “No worries, Hun. It’s just for fun. No matter what it says, I’m not going to fall out of love with you or anything.”

  Dakota’s hesitation is obvious, making me wonder if what she wrote is worse than what’s written on mine. She unfolds the green paper, swallows, and covers her face with her hand.

  “C’mon!” Paul yells. “Don’t be a wuss.”

  “Shut up, doofus!” Dakota yells back, throwing an acorn at her brother, which he catches with ease.

  “Fine,” she retorts. “Here goes. It says: In ten years, I hope to have found the courage to be true to myself and come out to my friends and family. I also hope they will accept me for who I am.”

  An acorn flies through the air and hits Dakota on the bicep. We all look over to Paul, knowing it was him that threw it. “You realize that we all knew back then, right sis?” Paul declares. “We just didn’t want to push you to come out, so we pretended we didn’t. It didn’t change anything, and never would. You are still you. Nothing like that would change how we feel about you. I still hate you,” Paul laughs. An acorn collides with his forehead and his laughter ceases. “Ouch.”

  “Serves you right!” Dakota exclaims. “I love you all -- except Paul. Thank you for loving me for me.” Dakota refuses to take the box to Paul, so Keith offers instead.

  “When will you two get over this sibling rivalry crap you got going on?” Keith wonders aloud.

  “Never,” Paul and Dakota blurt out in unison.

  With an eye roll, Keith hands the box to Paul and he pulls a yellow piece of paper out of it.

  “Guess it’s my turn,” he says, unfolding it in his hands. “In ten years, I hope to find my birth parents. Maybe go back and visit Colombia. Find a Colombian wife. Have Colombian babies,” he laughs as he finishes reading.

  His wife, Isabel, pulls him into her. “I guess you were pretty good about predicting your future, babe. Well, all except the Colombian babies part. We should probably get on that,” she winks.

  Paul dips Isabel and plants a kiss on her lips. It’s so nice to see him happy, but slightly nauseating at the same time.

  “Oh, get a room!” Keith grabs the box from Paul’s feet. With a look of concern, he sets it on my lap.
“Here, Karissa. Why don’t you read yours?”

  I already know what the paper says. I’ve run it through my head every single day for the past ten years, knowing that eventually I would have to read it out loud in front of everyone. Kicking myself in the butt for putting those words on that pink piece of paper, I realize how ignorant I was thinking there was even a tiny possibility of it coming true.

  I stare at the paper, fumbling with its corners. “I really don’t want to.”

  “You can do it!” Dakota yells. “Remember, no matter what it says, we will all still love you!”

  The corners of the paper are turning dark from my sweaty fingertips -- the paper Jasper handed me that evening. I stare in silence for a few moments, knowing that I can’t possibly read what it says without utter embarrassment quickly following. Pushing down the lump of fear and regret, the words filter out of my mouth. “It says: In ten years, I will find happiness. I will miss my friends but understand that life will take us in different directions. Hopefully, one day we will find each other again.”

  I lied. It doesn’t say that at all. It says something much deeper, more emotional, and absolutely raw. Something I haven’t even been able to face yet myself and there is no way I could’ve shared these feelings with the group -- not back then and definitely not now.

  Jason is the last person to read his prediction. “It says: In ten years, I will be playing music on tour. Everyone will know my name and have my cd in their collection. Maybe, I’ll even have a hot model as my side-chick.” Jason tosses the paper into the fire, and begins strumming his guitar. “Guess my future will have to wait. Being a struggling artist builds character and gives me something to write about, right? Maybe one day, the song I wrote about this night will be my money maker.”

  I retrieve the box from the ground at his feet, wondering where the sixth piece of paper ended up. “Didn’t Jasper put one in here?” I whisper to Dakota.

  She shrugs her shoulders, “I don’t know, Riss. Don’t you remember? You were with him that night.”

  I think back, but the night was so emotional that I was too preoccupied to notice if he put a prediction in it. Disappointment courses through my soul as I sit, fumbling with the box, opening and closing it several times.

  Keith tosses a log on the fire and no one else seems to care. A slight anger is growing intensely throughout my body. Did Jasper ever really care about any of us? Does anyone else care about him?

  The crew gossips as they sit around the fire, catching up on everything that’s happened since the last time we were all together. I pull a beer from the cooler, popping the lid off with the end of my lighter. As I breathe in the menthol smoke from a cigarette, the sun begins to set on the horizon. Pink clouds sit right above the mountains, convincing all viewers of their beauty. Crickets begin to chirp, and fire flies coast just above the water before entering the forests to find their mates.

  Crumpling the pink paper in my hand, I toss it into the fire, hoping to forget the words scribbled on it in blue permanent marker. On the hill behind the beach, Jasper’s house taunts me. Jeanette, his mom, never came back after everything happened, but she couldn’t find it in her heart to sell it. Keith told me it was rented for a while, but the tenants have recently moved out and it’s currently empty. My heart forges a battle with my head in which my heart is the victor. While everyone else is singing and drinking around the fire, I creep away to the one place I haven’t been able to return to.

  My feet carry me to the stone stairwell. Overgrown ivy almost completely blocks the path, and I struggle to push it out of the way.

  “Hey, Karissa, whatcha’ doin’?” Dakota asks from behind me.

  “Just had a lapse in judgement,” I respond. “Part of me wanted to see it again.”

  Her eyes fill with sympathy. “I understand. Maybe it’s better, though, to never go back down that road.”

  I nod my head, “Yeah, maybe.”

  She grabs my hand and pulls me toward the beach. “C’mon, we are gonna play beer pong in the rec building in a little while. You can be on my team.”

  My feet follow her, but my heart stays at the bottom of the staircase, desperately wanting to climb those rocks to the top, thinking Jasper will be there like he was so many times before. My head chimes in, reassuring me that it’s impossible and I allow the hole in my heart to ache for only a moment longer before sewing it shut.

  Once back to the fire, Kota pats the sand next to her, inviting me to sit. Lifting the blanket, I slide underneath and cozy up to the flame. The boys toss a football around while we gossip about marriage and babies and celebs that have had too much plastic surgery. The night is a perfect transplant from ten years ago, if only it wasn’t missing the most important thing -- Jasper.

  Chapter 1

  “Places, everyone,” Mr. York yells from the auditorium seats. “And this time make sure you know your lines!” With a wave of his British hand, he directs me to turn down the lights. It’s the third time today that we’ve run this scene, and I can hear his voice growing tired. “Perhaps you blokes could practice at home so that I don’t have to waste so much time here yelling out lines!”

  For once, I’m glad I’m in the back of the auditorium instead of on stage. Mr. York about lost his mind last spring when I bombed my part of Desdemona in Othello. Since then, he swore I would strictly stay behind the scenes, which bodes well for me – less chance of making him mad.

  Faith walks on stage, her blonde hair securely fastened into a bun atop her head. Tiny wire-rimmed glasses rest on the bridge of her nose. “O, Romeo,” she starts.

  “No, No, No!” Mr. York shouts as he rushes to the stage. “You need to feel these words. You are in love with this man,” Mr. York explains as he points to Jasper, a freshman skater boy who somehow adopted the role of Romeo.

  Faith giggles. “I’m not sure I can be serious with a boy whose hair is as long as mine.”

  Jasper flips his chin-length blonde hair behind his ears, embracing her snide comment. “You’re just jealous.”

  I laugh. All three faces turn to me.

  “Karissa!” Mr. York scolds from the stage. “A little professionalism would be great!”

  Slouching down in my chair, I attempt to become invisible. “Sorry,” I whisper.

  “Anyway,” Mr. York starts. “You have to commit to the scene … you two are star-crossed lovers. I don’t care if you hate each other in real life … you better get it together by show time or else -- bugger off!”

  Mr. York has been in the country for over two decades, yet when he gets irritated, his true British dialect surfaces. Frustration boils under his skin as he struggles to convince a group of teenagers to recite Shakespeare’s words correctly. Faith and Jasper take their places backstage, and with a wave of his hand, Mr. York directs us to start again from the top.

  I illuminate Faith with a spotlight as she stands on the balcony we built two weeks ago. However, my eyes quickly shift to the right once Jasper sets foot on the stage. His hair is now tied into a man bun on the top of his head, and his robe is covering the black and gray hoodie beneath. A certain aura surrounds him as he says his lines, so effortlessly.

  “Karissa!” Mr. York yells to me. “Do you have your head up your bum? You missed your cue.”

  Faith’s amber eyes burn through the empty auditorium directly into my booth. I cower to her silent demand and flick the spotlight on, revealing her silhouette on stage. Her eyes shift focus and she picks up where she left off.

  She rambles through her part, messing up once or twice. Mr. York’s face is chock-full of regret, but a replacement for Juliet this late in the game is out of the question. “Run it again!” he yells, tossing his screenplay on an empty chair.

  ***

  Forty-five minutes of complete frustration pass and practice ends. “Karissa, come down here before you leave, please!” Mr. York directs.

  Expecting to be reprimanded for my mistakes during practice, I meander down the aisle toward th
e stage. “Karissa?” Mr. York inquires. “Jasper needs a ride home. I would give him one, but I have an appointment to get off to. Do you mind?”

  I nod my head. “That’s fine.”

  Jasper tosses his backpack over his shoulder. A skateboard is strapped to the back of it by a bungee cord, swaying as he walks. A yellow and purple hacky sack peeks out from behind an open zipper, and different patches of punk rock bands are loudly displayed, covering any empty spots. “Right on,” he says as he trots up behind me.

  I offer a slight smile, but am at a loss for words.

  “So, how come you do the lights instead of act?” his voice journeys from behind.

  I stop to wait for him. “I’m not much of an actress,” I respond. “I tried it when I was a freshman and sophomore, but it’s just not something I’m any good at. Mr. York asked me if I wanted to do lights and sound this year. I didn’t want to give up the play completely, so it was perfect.”

  He smiles as I unlock the car doors. “Maybe next year I could help you do lights and sound. I’m not much for acting, either.”

  He’s lying. He lit up on stage. Mr. York practically begged him to be in the show after having him in class for the first time and realizing what a character he was. I could tell he loved to act, so I’m not sure why he would want to give it up. However, I’m not looking to destroy the opportunity of being one-on-one in the sound booth next year, so I change the subject.

  “So, where’s your house at?” I ask.

  He tosses his bag in the back and slides into the passenger seat. “You know where Hemlock Lake is?” he asks.

  I shake my head, “Never heard of it.”

  He laughs. “Don’t worry, Riss. Once you see it, you’ll wonder how you lived your whole life without it.”

  Chapter 2

  “Turn here,” Jasper directs as he pulls at his hair tie and luscious blonde locks fall onto his shoulders.