“Yeah. For the summer anyway.”
“Oh? I didn’t know you were moving again.”
“I’ve applied for a position at this gallery in New York. I’m supposed to have a face to face interview in August. The internship position will be open in September. The girl I’d be replacing said I was a top pick from the references my professor gave. I’m leaving in two months whether I get it or not. But I’m hoping for the former, not the latter.”
I don’t mean to bombard him with all this information. I’m excited about my future, and I needed to let it out.
“I hope for the latter, too.”
“Are you planning on staying here?”
“Not forever, but awhile.”
Before I know it, we’re driving up the private road that leads to my house, the back tires kicking up dust behind us, red in the glow of his taillights.
It isn’t smart to start anything when I intend to leave, but there’s a sliver of me that wants to spend time with him this summer. Even if it’s only as friends.
The lights of my house kill the endless darkness of the thicket. When we reach the garden gate, he slows and shifts the truck into park, leaving the engine running. There’s only the sporadic light on inside, and I don’t see my mother’s car anywhere. She must still be gone.
“I had a wonderful time with you today, Evie.”
“Me, too. With you.”
He regards my hand resting on the bench seat between us and covers it with his own.
“Can I see you again?” he asks, his voice gentle. “We have a lot to talk about.”
You have no idea.
I hesitate answering him.
How would his mother react if she found out?
Do I really care?
“I’d like that.” I mirror his tone.
“I’m free tomorrow.”
He doesn’t play games.
“It’s a date,” I reply.
He withdraws his hand, gets out, and walks around to my side to open my door for me. I set my hands on his shoulders as he assists me out, leaving them there once I’m steady on the ground. I rise onto the balls of my feet and kiss him on the cheek. Being a gentleman, he doesn’t attempt to turn his face to catch my lips.
“Goodnight,” I whisper.
“Goodnight.”
When I reach the top step of the porch, I gander back over my shoulder. He’s watching me. With a wave and a smirk, he gets back into his truck and drives off.
I’m about to enter the house, smiling to myself, when the crackle of wicker being manipulated with weight comes from my left. Bathed in the gentle light of the porch lamp, Holt’s golden copper eyes scrutinize me.
Is that—jealousy?
No.
He must hate me for a reason. Well, the feelings mutual, bud. I’ve done nothing but try to be cordial to him, yet he rebuffs all my attempts. If it wasn’t for my mother, I would ignore him so hard.
I notice a book in his hand, hanging upside down, with his fingers tucked between the pages to keep his place. I’m surprised he enjoys the company of books. I would have sworn a mongrel such as himself would be an illiterate.
I squint at the turned around title...
On The Road
By Jack Kerouac
A bit pretentious.
He’s still staring at me, waiting for me to speak, to bend over backwards. He can forget that. I’m not in the mood to play twenty unanswered questions with him tonight.
I step inside, hoping to avoid any further awkwardness with him.
There. That should do it.
He follows me into the house.
Or not.
I retreat to my room without acknowledging his entrance and drop off my bag before heading into the kitchen to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a cold glass of milk. When I step through the swinging door, he’s leaning against the counter near the sink, drinking apple juice from the lip of the bottle. Suddenly, I wish I were that bottle, his lips pressed against mine.
I mentally laugh the thought away.
Why would I ever wish that?
I walk over to the fridge for the ingredients, his eyes silently studying me. He lingers while I slather the bread with peanut paste, refusing to budge. It’s very distracting to have someone watch every little move you make. Mercifully, he walks out, allowing me to finish my late night snack in peace. Nothing like a PB&J after a night of drinking. I take it into my room, devouring it like a rabid pack animal, then slip into a thin nightshirt, perfect for hot summer nights, and slide into the cool relief of my unslept in sheets.
It’s dark in my room when I wake. I make out the outline of furniture, which tells me it’s early in the morning. I’m a sweaty, sticky mess, lying in damp sheets. It’s hotter than a furnace in my room.
I climb out of bed and exit my room to a deathly still house, except for the usual creaks and cracks the old structural bones make. I fiddle with the temperature pad on the wall outside my room, but the air conditioning—only used in the direst of situations—won’t turn on.
Fantastic.
Stubbornly, I keep fiddling with it until I conclude it’s futile, surrendering to modern technology.
It’s a muggy pre-dawn morning, the air warm and damp, without a breath of wind to stir the heat. There’s only one solution to keep from succumbing to the stifling temperature when the cooling system is on the fritz, a night swim.
I tiptoe across the hardwood floor to the screen door and open it carefully so it doesn’t let out a whining squeak. Luckily, it doesn’t. I wouldn’t want to alert the watchdog upstairs. Once out of ear’s reach, I sprint toward the shore of the lake to the dock’s edge, stripping my gown and panties off. Without a second thought of the temperature, I cut through the black water like a hot knife through butter. It’s cool silk against my skin.
I come up for oxygen and float on my back, gazing up at the fading stars faintly spotting the vast sky, endless black bleeding into a steely gray. The symphony of critters sing their morning song, silenced with my ears submerged under the waterline and the muffled lapping of waves splashing against the dock. At peace drifting aimlessly on the current’s back, my body becomes one with the fluidity of the water.
It’s destroyed instantly when a disturbance near the dock startles the quiet. Flailing around until I’m upright, I search around me frantically, terrified it may be a wild animal—or worse. There’s only ripples where something disrupted the calm of the water’s surface.
I make a mad dash for the shore when a face pops out from the depths inches from mine. I scream, putting banshees to shame.
It’s Holt.
For one brief heartbeat, I’m relieved it’s him. Then relief turns to annoyance.
“What the hell are you doing sneaking up on someone like that?” I shove his shoulder. “You scared me half to death!”
When he laughs, I lunge at him, pushing him back with an irritated growl. I remember I’m stark naked and move away from him, dipping my shoulders under the surface.
I want to escape him immediately, but in my condition, I’m pretty much trapped. I need to get out of this situation before dawn breaks. Otherwise, he’ll see everything and more.
“What are you doing out here this early anyway?” I ask, expecting the same answer to every other question I’ve asked him—nothing.
“It’s hot,” he replies in a purely masculine voice. Did he— He dunks himself under the water. Even though it’s impossible for him to see me, I cover up with my arms and hands anyway. He comes back up, running his hands over his hair.
“You talk. I was beginning to wonder.”
“Yes, Evie, I talk.” He sticks a fingertip in his ear and shakes out water trapped inside. “I know a wide vocabulary of words.”
“What took you so long?”
“I liked making you squirm.”
“Oh, so, you’re an inconsiderate asshole,” I state.
He laughs a noiseless laugh, bobbing his head from side to
side as he considers my statement.
“Some people would say you’re right.”
“People who know you, you mean.” I regret the words before I finish spewing them.
“What are you doing out here at this hour, anyway?” He avoids my snide remark, which has me wondering if I was right.
“I’ve always come out for night swims during the summer.”
“Do you always do it in the skinny?” His question makes every inch of my body still and zoom in on him, my eyes big from mortification.
I’m beginning to wish he’d kept his mouth sealed. I liked him more.
“How do you know I’m naked,” I snap, “were you watching me?”
“It’s hard not to, Evie,” he confesses, stepping toward me.
I take a step back, the sandy bottom squishing between my toes.
“What did you see?”
“Not much,” he remarks, as if saying I possess nothing worth seeing. His insult exposes me more than I already am.
“Get out of the water,” I order, pointing toward the shore with one arm shielding my breasts. Even if they are unappealing to him, he doesn’t deserve to see them.
“You’re a bundle of dynamite with a short fuse.”
I grumble out a frustrated groan, noticing the horizon to the east becoming bluer, the clouds peach. If I want to get out of this with everything unseen, I need to move this along swiftly. There’s no need to be subtle at this point.
“Call me crazy. I tend to snap at people who insult me. Now get out.”
“Just because you own the lake, doesn’t mean you can order me out of it.”
“That’s exactly what it means. Get out before I scream.”
“Wouldn’t do any good since your mother isn’t home. And even if she were, I doubt you’d want her to find you naked with me.”
He has a point. A very good point.
“I—I don’t want you to see my body.” I plead to his human decency, if he has any. “Will you please leave first?”
After a pause, he shoots me a sympathetic grin.
“Come on, Max,” he summons his dog and makes for the shore.
As he shows me his backside, I catch sight of something that takes me aback, a deforming second degree burn on his right shoulder blade. It isn’t minor, the raised pink scar prominent against the rest of his flawless skin, like a huge bubble of pink gum splattered across his upper back. While he wears his battle wounds on his skin, the badge of a survivor, I hide mine on the inside. In this moment, a strange connection forms to this stranger and a twinge of guilt wrenches my scarred heart.
an assortment of colors the artist works with
The following morning, I pick a bouquet of lavender from the garden and walk to the plot next to ours, inhabited by this sweet old couple, Roy and Hettie Bennett. They’ve lived here forever, and were my grandparents’ best friends. Since both of them passed when I was a baby, they became my adopted grandparents for all intents and purposes. They never had any kids of their own, so we’ve been their family.
I could enter without notice, but I knock on the screen door instead. I wouldn’t want to sneak up on Hettie. She’d probably have a heart attack.
“I’m coming,” she calls from the kitchen, pans rattling. “I’m coming. Hold your horses.”
The floorboards whine as she slowly waddles to the door. Her eyes grow when she finally sees me. Her sight isn’t what it used to be, so it takes her until halfway down the hall. “Evie, darling girl. Come in. Come in,” she insists, gesturing her hands quickly.
I open the screen door and step inside, ambushed by tight hugs and wet kisses. She’s strong for a bitty old thing.
“You’re too skinny, child.” She shakes her gray head with disapproval. “Don’t they eat in California?”
“Sure. It’s all gluten-free or made from seaweed though,” I tease.
“Well, this won’t do.” She yanks me toward the kitchen and sits me down at the table. “I’ll make you a plate of my fresh peach cobbler.”
I ate a big breakfast, but I’d never refuse Hettie’s cobbler. It’s the best in the state.
She places the dessert in front of me with a glass of ice cold milk.
“Thank you, Nana.”
She sits in the chair next to me with a groan and pop. Her, not the chair.
“You know you’re getting old when it’s a struggle to sit.”
She snorts a tired laugh.
“You’re not old, Hettie. You’ll always be young to me.”
“Bless you, child,” she says, patting me on my cheek affectionately. “I wish someone would tell my joints and bones that.” She points to the untouched cobbler on my plate. “Eat.”
I set the bouquet of lavender on the table, the stems tied together with twine. “These are for you.”
“They’re wonderful.” She picks them up and inhales deeply. “My favorite.”
I pick up my fork and dive in.
“Mmm,” I moan. “I’ve missed this.”
“It’s not the only thing you’ve missed, I hope,” she says, laying the grandma guilt on thick.
“Of course it’s not. It wouldn’t be nearly as good if it were made by anyone else.”
I grew up on Hettie’s home cooking. If we didn’t order food in or go out to eat, Meredith and I would join Roy and Hettie for dinner. She was always feeding us. I think it’s because she loves us and wants to thank my mom for letting them live on the land rent free. She refuses to take their money because she considers them secondary parents.
“That boy living with you can certainly put it away,” she comments.
My eyes fly to hers. They’re lit up, lifted at the wrinkled corners from the nosy grin on her lips. She’s trying to get information out of me.
“How do you know about Holt?”
“You forget what it’s like to live in a small town. People talk,” she reminds me. “That, and he’s come over to fix things and bring us supplies we need. He’s a very nice boy.”
“If you say so.”
“You don’t like him?”
“He doesn’t seem to like me,” I correct her.
“What is there not to like?” she asks, moving her hand up and down in the air. “You’re the whole package.”
“I have no clue.” I shrug. “He wouldn’t talk to me for the first week. When he did, I wanted him to shut up again.”
“I’ve been there,” she says with a chuckle. “Perhaps you make him nervous? Boys aren’t always sharp when it comes to emotions.”
“I highly doubt I make him feel anything but nausea.” She laughs a hardy laugh. “He seems to enjoy getting a rise out of me. And he succeeds.”
“It sounds to me like he likes you.”
“Are you trying to tell me by picking on me, he’s really saying he likes me?”
“Exactly.”
“That’s some schoolyard stuff right there. Next, he’ll be pulling my pigtails.” I take a gulp of my milk, wiping away the mustache. “Do they ever grow up, Nana?”
“Nope.”
“That’s reassuring. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, dear.” She rubs the back of my hand.
“I wish he didn’t bug me so much.”
“Wait until you spend fifty years with him.”
“I wouldn’t last fifty minutes.” I giggle softly. “Where is Roy anyway?”
“He went fishing hours ago. Probably won’t be back until supper. It’s a shame. He’ll be upset he missed you.”
“This won’t be my only visit this summer. I intend to come over often and get fat on your cobbler.”
I pat my full belly.
“You’d better.”
“I should probably get a move on,” I say disappointedly. “I have to run into town for Meredith, work off all this food you fed me. Is there anything you need while I’m there?”
“No, child, we’re set for now.”
“Alright.” I stand and bend over to give her a hug and a kiss. “I�
�ll check next time.”
“You’re a good girl.”
“Tell Roy I’m sorry I missed him.”
“Oh, you can be sure I will.”
Later on, I pull up to the house and notice Aidan’s SUV parked outside. I climb out of the Nova, smiling at him as he meets me at my car. “Hey,” he says, a brown paper bag in his hand. “It’s such a nice day, I thought we could eat on the dock and go for a swim.”
“Like a picnic?” I ask with a mute chuckle, amused by his old-fashioned ways.
“I bring fried chicken.” He shakes the bag, tempting me with its greasy delights. He’s especially mouthwatering in his blue plaid board shorts and pale blue tee, making his eyes even bluer.
“How can a girl turn down fried chicken?”
He laughs.
I slip a wild section of hair behind the fold of my ear. We blink at each other, an obvious attraction between us. A peculiar ping of guilt wriggles in my gut, nagging at me.
I stick my thumb in the direction of the house. “Let me put these things away and change.”
“Would you like me to help you?” He wants to help me change? His eyes flare with realization, embarrassment briefly staining his cheeks. “Oh, no. I meant with your bags.”
“I’ll manage, Aid. Meet you down by the dock, okay?”
“Great.” He’s clearly pleased I’ve chosen to join him and for the opportunity to escape the moment.
I recover the reusable shopping bags from the backseat, head inside, and drop them on the kitchen table, an enormous grin manipulating my face. I sort the groceries then freshen up and change into something a little less comfortable, my swimsuit. Eek! Over that, a floral dress. I survey myself in the mirror, thinking about the differences between Aidan and me. It doesn’t change my lingering feelings. Or the past we share.
In high school, it was plain how different we were, him captain of the baseball team, me a quasi-loner with my nose in a leather-bound sketchbook I carried everywhere, my ears plugged by headphones. I was the Molly Ringwald to his...well, every male lead opposite her. Though, Aidan is more Blane McDonnagh than Jake Ryan. And there was no driving off into the sunset to a perfectly placed eighties’ tune.
Secondary Colors Page 4
