by J. R. Rogue
Me: You don’t have to come out and get me now. The guy that lives in the house is going to run me into town in a bit. I’ll just hang out in your store until lunch if that works.
Kat: That’s great! I can’t wait to see you :)
Having to rely on other people to leave the property was strange. I hadn’t owned a car since high school, having no need for one in New York. Before leaving Las Vegas, I started calling dealerships in Missouri. I had a specific car I wanted, and I needed every option on it. Tomorrow I would be picking up my new Mustang. It was not a vehicle that would be useful for the winters here, but it was already March and I did not intend to stay that long. A couple of months should be enough to get my mind, and Kat, back on track.
I walked to the bathroom, stepping over the tile onto the rug, and took a seat at the large ornate vanity. I always loved watching my mother sit on the plush velvet seat under the warm glow of the three bulbs hanging over the large mirror. I would gaze at her as she put her on her makeup. “Leaning over a sink to put your makeup on is no way to live, Dear,” she would say. “Just like your writing, it’s an art. It shouldn’t be rushed. You want to take a seat and stay awhile.”
She purchased a small vanity for me at a yard sale a few years later. It wasn’t as grand as hers, but it got the job done. I didn’t have space for it in my dorm room, but I had it sent to my first apartment. Sure, I could have purchased a new one, but it wouldn’t have been the same. It was so strange to be back in this house.
After a quick refresher on my makeup and a change of my shirt, I stood outside of Chace’s jeep and waited for him to leave the house. He soon came bounding down the front stairs to me, hair glistening wet. “Here ya go.” He held out a set of keys to me. “Your mom had me make a copy of mine for you. The front one sticks a bit.”
“Yeah, I remember.” I took them quickly from his outstretched hand.
“Has it changed much?” He opened his door and hopped in, I did as well.
“Yes and no. I haven’t been back since Christmas break, senior year of college. You have this picture in your mind of a place, and when you see it again it’s the same, yet not. I don’t know if that makes sense.”
I looked around at the trees. Buds of green were beginning to grow and the sky was clear. I focused on my old tree house in the distance. You could see it this time of year. The skeleton frame of it was watching me. My grandfather had built it for me. I stared back at the house, the one he had also built, then back at my hands resting in my lap. I clenched them and then released.
“I think it does,” Chace replied, breaking my trance.
We headed down the road in silence for a few minutes. I tried to drum up something to discuss. Small talk was never my specialty. Finally, I thought of something.
“So, my mom says the weather has been bad lately.” Great, Sera. You brought up the weather. How lame can you be? He smiled despite my boring topic. It was a nice smile.
“Yeah, it’s been way too cold. I know we don’t live in the south or anything, but it felt like Michigan or something. I’m glad it’s finally warming up.”
“Have you been to Michigan?”
“No.” The corner of his mouth turned up. “When I think of the weather we have had I just immediately think ‘Michigan.’ Don’t ask why.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re there at the house to help with everything. Having a house just sit without anyone to care for it is no good.”
“It works out well. And there is a lot that needs to be done. So, New York City, huh? Why are you here now? If I can ask.”
“Well, I need you to drop me on Commercial Street when we get to town at my best friend’s store. She is going through a divorce so I wanted to come home to see her. That’s mostly why I am here.” And to escape a crap breakup, and to convince myself again that I am a writer, and to face that secret-swallowing house. Some things were too much to share with a stranger.
“Your mom said you were moving home. It’s just a visit?”
“It’s an extended visit. I don’t know when I will be going back.”
“I see.”
“So what are you going to school for?” I already knew the answer.
“I’m going to be a teacher.”
“Ah, okay. It makes sense now then.” I faked it some more.
“What does?” His eyebrow raised in my direction.
“Why my mom is helping you. She’s a teacher; you’re going to be a teacher. She really wanted me to be one as well.”
“But now you’re a writer. That’s amazing. I can’t imagine the patience it would take to write a book. Some days I feel like I can barely write a song.”
“You’re a song writer?” Please say no. Hello, kryptonite. Good thing he is young.
“I have a friend in a band and I help out with lyrics from time to time.” He laughed suddenly. “I mean, your brother. Your brother is the friend in the band.”
“Wait, he is in a band? I didn’t know that. I knew he wanted to start one. Damn, I’m a shit sister.” I needed to get my head out of my ass. How did I not know this? “But songwriting, that’s a form of writing I have never been able to master. I wrote poetry a lot as a teen. Which I am sure if I saw now, I would burn. And I’ve never had one of my novels published.”
“What? But your mom said…”
“Well, I’ve had a ton of novellas published. The three novels I wrote in college are stored away. Never seen by the public eye.”
“Oh.”
“So why aren’t you in my brother’s band?”
“I don’t sing and it’s not really my ‘thing’ to be on stage. I mean, once when one of the guitarists was sick I filled in, but that’s about it.”
“Can you sing?” He needed to say no. Singers were like candy to me. His smile alone was making me blush already.
“Nah.” He laughed. I couldn’t decipher if he was telling the truth or just being modest. I decided he was a horrendous singer. Choosing that option was the best idea. Lusting after the young man who lived with me was no way to start out this getaway. We fell into a silence as we entered town and approached Commercial. I pointed him in the direction of Kat’s shop; an empty spot was located just outside her door.
“Thanks for the ride. I guess I’ll see you at the house later.”
“Okay. Let me get your number that way we can get a hold of each other if we need to.”
I reached down and grabbed his iPhone from the center console, quickly inputting my information. “There ya go.” I smiled as I hopped out of the jeep.
A wooden bench sat outside the entrance to Kat’s shop. A young girl sat there. She was staring at me. I looked into her eyes and her gaze quickly darted to the phone in her hand. She stood and walked past me, never averting her eyes from the phone, furiously typing. I caught her in the reflection of the glass door as she stepped off the curb and reached for Chace’s passenger side door.
Kat was part owner of a small boutique in the town’s old square. She shared ownership with Alicia, a classmate who graduated a few years after us. I couldn’t put a face to the familiar name when Kat told me years ago about the partnership.
Kat was the buyer for everything they sold, while Alicia took care of the financials and the staff, which consisted of one full time employee and three part-time. They sold a variety of items, ranging from jewelry down to candles and home decor. A small bell above me jingled as I entered. The two glass windows on my sides had many live plants in them. The smell of butterscotch tickled my nose.
“Welcome to Fiddlesticks,” someone said from the register.
“Hi, I’m looking for Kat?” I said, picking up a cute vase on a table.
“Just a moment. I’ll go get her from the back.” The employee retreated to hunt down my friend and I picked a wall to explore. I was instantly proud of my pal. The atmosphere was inviting, the merchandising on par with anything I had seen in New York. Sparkling lights hung all over the ceilings, twisted with what looked like she
er curtain panels. Rustic bookcases were angled across the space, holding an eclectic array of products. The walls were lined with dresses and blouses. It was quite adorable. I heard the sound of my ginger friend’s voice behind me.
“There she is. In the flesh. The brilliant writer. The red carpet fashionista!”
I spun on my heel and held up my hand to silence her. “You’re going to make me blush, knock it off.” Her red hair was much longer than it had been the last time she visited, and she was noticeably thinner.
She had only told me a week ago of her surprise that her husband wanted a divorce. Was this gauntness the result of barely eating the past week? Or had things been rough longer than she let on between them? I reached out to her for a hug. She felt tiny in my arms. I was six inches shorter than her, but I would guess that our weight was close now, and I was NewYork-skinny. She squeezed me tightly.
“You have no idea how glad I am you’re here. I need you.”
“You have me.” I rubbed her back gently “I’m not leaving unless I have your approval.” I released her and gave her my serious eye squint. I meant it.
“Then, never. How is never?” She mock pouted.
“Now you’re just getting greedy. Other people love me too, you know.”
She playfully swatted at my arm and grinned. “Oh, I know. I’ve read every magazine article about you. Everyone loves you! You go to Hollywood parties and date movie stars,” she teased.
“One movie star.” I was never going to escape this.
“The movie star. Shit. I’m sorry. Every time someone asks me about my ex-husband I want to cry all over again, and here I am bringing your ex up too. Shit.”
“It’s no big deal. It wasn’t a bad break up.” That was the truth, too. There was no yelling, no crying, and no begging on either end; which further justified my reason for ending it. There was nothing deep there. He had been the first man in years I had fell for without turning it into a story. Which was a shame, considering how mind blowing the sex was.
I still had not found him. The man to make me write something meaningful for once. The man to touch my skin without bringing dirt forth. I changed the subject, knowing it would come up again that evening. “So, where are we doing dinner later tonight?”
I spent the rest of the afternoon helping my friend around her store. She caught me up on small town gossip while I helped her move boxes around in the back room and checked-in a new shipment that FedEx dropped off after lunch. The hours passed quickly.
For dinner, Kat had chosen her favorite restaurant, Fire, one town over. I didn’t expect anything else and made a point to grab a decent amount of cash for a tip. We hadn’t seen each other in years. This wasn’t going to be cheap.
The atmosphere at Fire was one of its biggest draws; it made me forget I was in the middle of the Midwest. There were two levels, each one suited to different needs and we had a reservation on the underground level.
Upstairs had a more casual feel, weekdays I imagined it was littered with 9-5ers grabbing cocktails before heading home, the lower level was a perfect spot for an intimate date or, in our case, a get together with your closest friend. The waiter led us to a table in a back corner. I wasted no time asking him to bring out a bottle of my favorite wine. He bowed and left, saying he would come back for our food order.
“I can’t believe I’m back here,” I stated, grabbing my napkin and arranging it in my lap.
“I know,” Kat agreed. “I never thought you would come back again.”
“I know. I’m sorry I haven’t visited.” Kat and I were inseparable all through high school and college. When we earned our degrees, I opted to stay in the City. We vowed to stay in touch and for her to come visit after she returned to the Ozarks. Soon, she got married and my first novella hit it big, which made it harder and harder to stay close.
“I’m sure it’s difficult to find time. With the movies and the writing. And, Tristan. I still can’t believe it.”
“You and me both.”
“Are you over him?”
“More or less. He’s just a normal guy when it comes down to it.”
“Um, have you looked around?” She motioned around the room. “These are normal guys. Tristan Kane is not. Are the magazines right about him? About what happened? I wanted to text you and ask but it felt tacky. Then I thought I’d call, but, I don’t know. I’m sorry. I should have asked. I was just so wrapped up in what was going on in my marriage.”
“It’s not like you’re the only one who has done that. I was so caught up in the thing I had with him I needed to step away. And yes, it was true. He cheated. But it was just a year of my life. It’s nothing in comparison to what you have going on. I just needed to get away from it all. I stopped writing. I haven’t written anything in over a year.”
“Oh, wow.”
“Yeah, my publisher is freaking out. I should have had something new out a long ass time ago. They wanted it hot on the heels of the success of the trilogy and movies. I’ve always had ideas bursting out of me.”
In high school I couldn’t stop writing poems about that idiot Rex. In college it was my damn reckless side that started this whole career of writing about sex.
“I think I’m tapped out,” I said.
“You’re telling me you were with Tristan for a year and it didn’t inspire you at all?”
“I could never write about us. Do you know what kind of shit storm that would have caused? I can see the headlines now ‘JILTED AUTHOR EXPLOITS RELATIONSHIP WITH MOVIE STAR.’”
“True.”
“Enough of that crap. Tell me how you’re doing.” Earlier at Kat’s shop, I brought up her husband a couple times to no avail. She said she didn’t want to cry at work so I left it alone and busied myself attending to my social media duties while she worked on paper work. Now that we were away from the shop, I wanted to test the waters again.
My friend’s eyes immediately welled just as the server came back. She whipped her menu in front of her face. I took my time ordering, asking questions about the chicken. By the time I had made my selection, Kat appeared fine. As soon as our server was gone, her eyes filled again. She told me everything. Everything she had kept from me, so I wouldn’t think her marriage was flawed.
As I suspected dinner lasted many hours, and our tab was large. On the way home, Kat and I sat in silence, content in the low sounds of the radio, lost in our own thoughts. After hearing the whole story, I decided she was better off without her husband, but I kept my opinion to myself for the time being. She needed to process it all, without me chiming in with my opinion. It would be there when she asked.
She left me with a promise to have lunch again the next day. By then I would have my car and would be able to pick her up. I fumbled in my purse for my new key. The wine was making my head fuzzy. I found the key and opened the door, stepping into the house. I slipped my shoes off and quietly made my way up the wooden staircase.
I didn’t want to wake Chace. Maybe he was up with little miss nose-in-her-phone. I successfully made it to my room without any loud crashes and fell face first onto the large white comforter for the second time that day. I had been lying there for a couple minutes when I heard the door below me shut.
The living room was right below my bedroom. It had a direct door to the outside that led to the large wrap around porch. I crawled to the side of my bed and reached for my discarded purse, digging for my iPhone to charge it. I heard a guitar and paused. I pulled myself slowly from the bed and tiptoed over to my balcony door. Could I open it without making a sound? This damn house creaked like no other. I chanced it, slowly turning the knob and inching the heavy door open. No sound on my end. Thank you, Jesus.
I sat down in the doorway, listening to his guitar, leaning my back against the doorframe, propping my feet up on the other end. The music stopped and I held my breath. If he caught me listening, I would have to avoid him for at least a week. We had barely spoken, and becoming that creepy lady living in the h
ouse with him was not my goal.
I wondered if this was the time of night he always played, or if he chose now because he assumed I would be fast sleep. If an audience bothered him, I would be a horrible housemate. He would quickly notice that I was a night owl, preferring to write, or attempt to write, into the twilight hours.
The setting felt ideal. It was peaceful out here. I had forgotten the sound of the cicadas at night, the soft howl of a coyote in the distance, soon accompanied by his brethren. It was everything I hoped for. If I couldn’t find my writing again out here I should just hand in my laptop and give up. The guitar picked up again and I exhaled.
The melody was soft and soothing. I knew I shouldn’t be sitting here, very obviously invading his privacy. He seemed shy, and already told me he had only taken the stage to fill in for another.
I made myself as silent as the light wind I felt on my bare arm, better to be safe than sorry. He played for about a half hour, and not a single word escaped his lips. I had hoped to see if he was serious about not being able to sing.
Musicians fascinated me. My friend Andi, a fellow writer, and I would often go to jazz bars and listen to the amazing music. It wasn’t my favorite type of music but I grew to appreciate it. We would gather a few of our mutual girlfriends once a month and have “Gatsby Nights.” We’d dress up in glitzy jewelry, flapper dresses, and set our hair in beautiful waves. I attracted the attention of a sexy baritone player on one of our fun nights out, soon he and I were having our own fun nights, and in turn, I wrote a very sexy Novella.
The porch below grew silent. Minutes stretched out. Had he snuck inside? I slowly moved from my spot, legs numb from being in one position too long. I brought my legs around into the house and flattened my stomach across the doorway, bringing my eye to a small crack between the boards.
I couldn’t see much, but I saw Chace sitting in one of the wicker chairs below. His guitar was still in his lap, his left hand held a pen over a notebook. He had been writing in his silence. Yet he never sang a word aloud. Fascinating.
