by Cora Brent
Then, one by one, the remaining family members drifted away and it was just me and Claudia and Papa left in the house. At that point I became the Invisible Man. She couldn’t even see me.
Last night I’d sat here in the darkness, figuring there was no way Claudia could ignore me for a week. Tonight I was having my doubts. I kept thinking she would probably smile more often if she wasn’t so hell bent on keeping her knees locked. I just couldn’t read her. I couldn’t read her at all.
As I hunched on the edge of my mattress and brooded, no great breakthroughs came my way. Maybe if I was more the sensitive ponytail type then a girl like Claudia would make some sense to me. Or maybe the problem was that she wasn’t a girl at all. Claudia was a woman.
I frowned and laced my hands together. If females were in the habit of getting more complicated every year then the road ahead might be a rough one.
“Fuck,” I swore, thinking I probably used that word way too much. This was the hottest night yet. The small air conditioning unit didn’t quite compensate for the crummy insulation. Lying down was a virtual guarantee I’d be swimming in ball soup inside of an hour.
Jack always kept at least one six-pack in the fridge. There wasn’t anyone in that house at the moment who would object if I siphoned off two or three beers. If Jack noticed when he returned I’d just say that Getty must have snagged some.
I didn’t bother to be quiet when I returned to the house and started rooting around in the overflowing fridge. I twisted open a Budweiser and sprawled in the nearest chair. The cold air from the refrigerator felt good so I kept the door open.
“Thanks, Jack,” I said out loud as I chugged the whole bottle, tossed it in the garbage can and immediately reached for another one. Jack Giordano was my brother-in-law now. A year ago the idea would have shocked me. Even though he was only twelve years older than my sister, I only ever remembered him as a man. Not for the first time I wondered what it had been like for Claudia to grow up with a father who was closer to the age of a brother. My folks had been nearly thirty by the time I came around.
I was so busy listening to my own inner dialogue that I didn’t hear anyone approaching. She just appeared out of the darkness and stood there staring at me archly with her back against the wall and her arms crossed, looking for all the world like she’d calculated the effect her flimsy nightshirt and loose hair would have on my sex drive. If she did, she was a damn genius.
“What’s up, Claudia,” I said as casually as I could, considering the raging battle in my shorts.
“I hope that’s not the last beer,” she answered with a wry grin and I started to think that maybe I understood her better than I’d thought.
CHAPTER NINE
CLAUDIA
I kept dozing off. Then a dim part of my mind would rebel and I’d awaken with a gasp and a strange feeling like I’d just been pinched by something unseen.
What a weird day.
As he stood there and repeated his vows in a crisp tuxedo, Jack seemed like a different person. Anya too. Except for the blond hair I didn’t recognize a thing about the radiant woman who stood there in white at my father’s side and let her eyes fill with tears as he placed a ring on her finger.
I didn’t really know these people. And if they were so changed, what was I? Somehow at the age of twenty-three I was still trying to figure that out.
If I didn’t know better, I would swear I was the only one in the house. The silence was empty and hollow. But that might just have been my heart talking.
I wished I’d had a few drinks at the wedding. Jack had dragged me out onto the tiny dance floor and demanded the music of the tarantella. He’d taught me the steps when I was little, the same lesson once given to him by his grandmother, Papa’s long-dead wife. It seemed impossible that nearly two decades had passed since we stood in the living room with the folksy tune blasting from an old cassette tape, Jack exhibiting some rare patience and showing me the same steps over and over as Getty and Rocco sprawled on the couch, looking on. He’d laughed when I stepped on his toes.
I hadn’t forgotten the dance. But today I was clumsy and stiff as I went through the motions. Not that Jack noticed. He was just happy to be in his moment, happy to be the center of attention the way he liked it. Everyone clapped and cheered but by the time we were done I felt ridiculous. In fact I was so out of sorts that I couldn’t think of a single reason to say no when Easton asked me to dance. But I remembered pretty damn quickly when he pushed his dick against me. For an instant my whole body was electrified by the sudden feel of him. I even responded, pushing against him equally as hard. Then I looked at his face and remembered who he was.
It almost didn’t matter.
For a split second I was just a needy female who hadn’t been laid in a long time. And Easton was almost ridiculously good looking.
Yup, I’d considered it.
But just as quickly I was mortified. It couldn’t happen. Just because it wasn’t illegal didn’t mean it wasn’t wrong. I couldn’t look at Easton without recalling the obnoxious kid who used to run riot all over the neighborhood.
The only air conditioners were the single window units in each bedroom so the rest of the house was uncomfortably warm. I took each step down the stairs gingerly, wincing when a few creaked beneath my weight. I was really hoping no one else was awake.
But as soon as I turned out of the dark stairwell I saw the glow of the refrigerator light. I also saw a bare chest. It was attached to muscled arms that looked like they were carved out of marble.
“What’s up, Claudia?” Easton Malone asked calmly. He was not surprised to see me. I had no choice but to at least answer him.
I slid all the way into the kitchen and pointed to the object in his hand. “I hope that’s not the last beer.”
He was likely only propping the refrigerator door open in order to get some relief from the heat. He watched me patiently, almost bemusedly. It wasn’t until I stepped into the light that I realized I’d forgotten to throw on a pair of shorts. And my shirt was short, very short.
Easton guzzled a long swallow and returned the empty bottle to the oak table. “Take a look. I swear there are at least two more cold ones in there.”
I looked. He was right. I took one of the beers and twisted the cap off. I ought to grab it, haul ass up to my room and leave Easton here alone to stare at the fridge.
So why didn’t I do that?
Why couldn’t I do that?
I was rooted to the spot. I was standing in the kitchen of my childhood with my bare feet cemented in place. I felt the slow burn of Easton’s blue-eyed gaze over every inch of my body. His dark blonde hair was a shade too long. A piece of it fell across his forehead and nearly reached his eyes. I had difficulty resisting the urge to brush it away.
After a long gulp that drained half the bottle I cleared my throat. “Have there been some legal revisions in the state of New York since I was here last?”
He was perplexed. “What?”
“Since when is eighteen the legal drinking age?”
“I’m nineteen,” he corrected.
“Okay,” I shrugged. “Since when is nineteen the legal drinking age?”
Easton ignored the question. “You thought I was eighteen because I just graduated. I was left back though. In kindergarten.”
“Were you?” I asked inanely. “That’s interesting.”
It was interesting. Suddenly everything that came out of this guy’s mouth was magnetically fascinating. He could have chosen to sing Cabaret show tunes in tone deaf vocals and I would have hung on every note, thoroughly enraptured. Hell, it was like I was so painfully hard up for male attention that I’d misplaced my senses.
Well, I was hard up.
And I had lost a few of my senses in the process.
“Yeah,” Easton mused, stretching. “Every day the teacher, Mrs. Kowalsky-“
“I remember Mrs. Kowalksy,” I interrupted.
He smiled. “Anyway, every day Mrs. K
would make us sit in a circle on the carpet for story time. Usually she read us one of those short Syrus The Hedgehog books. You know, the ones with some kind of basic life lesson. Like Syrus ignores his mom and goes looking for truffles in some bushes and gets stung by bees. And we’re all supposed to walk away from that knowing that we need to listen to our folks. Or else Syrus stays away from the new kid because everyone laughs at him since he wears a funny hat all the time and has short legs. But then he finds out that the new kid likes to play baseball too and then-“
“Hedgehogs play baseball?”
“You keep interrupting, Claudia. And you’re missing the point. Syrus learns that you should never judge people on the basis of shallow bullshit. Like what kind of hat they’re wearing or if their legs are too short or if they are nineteen years old.”
I knew what he was getting at. I raised my eyebrows and said nothing.
Easton grabbed another beer, waited for a beat and then continued. “You should pay more attention to who a person is or you might miss out on all kinds of good stuff.”
I took another drink. “Is that why you got left back? You had a hard time learning Syrus’s life lessons?”
“No, not at all. I was the only one in that damn classroom who really understood where Syrus was coming from. No, I got left back because we were supposed to sit cross-legged during story time. I didn’t feel like doing it. And Mrs. K thought I couldn’t do it.”
“You were left back because you didn’t cross your legs during story time?”
Easton shrugged. “Something like that. I don’t remember. It probably isn’t important.”
“Then why did you bring it up?”
“Because you thought I was only eighteen and I had to set you straight.”
I nodded. “You did. I have now been informed that your maturity level exceeds my wildest theories.”
Easton was quiet for a moment. “Hey, I’m sorry I tried to grind on you in the middle of the wedding. Couldn’t help it.”
I almost choked. “It’s okay,” I muttered.
He looked at the floor and sighed, seeming troubled. “No, it was a real dickhead thing to do.”
“It’s not a big deal. Don’t be too harsh.”
“Life is harsh, Claudia.”
“World weary already, huh?”
Easton didn’t smile. He was considering my glib question carefully. “Sometimes.”
For the love of everything unholy, why did he have to be wearing boxers? Why did he have to be wearing nothing else besides the boxers? Why did he have to have muscles? And lips?
I needed to get my shit together before I wound up in his lap. Of course I could solve the whole threat of my burning libido if I would just leave the room and head back up the narrow stairwell alone. But I really didn’t want to do that either. I took another slow drink. “So what’s with this gossip about you heading to the big leagues?”
Easton sat up tall and grinned. “Damn straight I am, girl. Gotta put in some time at college first. Anya’s pretty insistent about that. My mom was always real big on college, you see.”
“I was sorry to hear about her, ah…”
“Death,” he finished.
“Yes. She was a nice woman.”
He stared at me. “You knew her?”
“Not really.”
Easton’s face was grim. “I’ll get there,” he said with quiet determination.
“I’m sure you will.”
He broke into a smile. “You know, Claudia, we grew up a few hundred yards away from each other and this is the longest conversation we’ve ever had.”
“By far,” I agreed.
Easton was apparently capable of rapid mood shifts. He was staring at me with sexy intensity once again. “So tell me about yourself.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
“Sounds invasive.”
“Invasive,” he repeated. His grin was a mile wide. “I like that word. Do you like thinking of me as an invader?”
God help me, YES!
“No.”
He didn’t seem bothered. How was it possible he was only a week out of high school? “Then talk to me.”
I chewed my lip and stared at a cross-stitch project that hung over the kitchen door. It had the maudlin ‘Bless This House’ poem and was completed by my grandmother before I was born. Maybe even before Jack was born. “What do you want to know, Easton? I can start with job prospects. I spent four years getting a degree in an impractical discipline. I can’t find a decent job and so I have to return to school to get a different piece of paper that will enable me to do something productive.” I paused. “That probably doesn’t make any sense to you.”
Easton sighed. “Why do you think so? I happen to understand English perfectly.” He rubbed his neck. “So what’s going on other than all this depressing job stuff?”
I didn’t really want to talk about anything else and I didn’t bother to keep the annoyance out of my voice. “Look, quit fishing. I’m not giving out the gory details and I’m sure you’ve heard about it all anyway.”
“Heard what?”
“About how my fiancé was caught cheating on me in front of all of America. I’m sure the video clip is probably still up somewhere if you want to see it.”
He nodded. “Oh yeah, that. But wasn’t that like six months ago or something?”
“Or something.”
“That’s a long time.”
“When you’re nineteen, two weeks is a long time.”
He snorted. “Would you quit it with the matronly bullshit? Claudia, you are four lousy years older than I am. Doesn’t give you much of a generational edge.”
“Four years is a lot at this stage of the game.”
Easton cocked his head curiously. “So how’d you end up with that fucker? I always figured you were the kind of girl who wouldn’t put up with anyone’s crap.”
“I’m not. Do you see a damn ring on my finger right now?”
“I bet you really gave him hell when you told him to go piss up a flagpole.”
I put my beer down on the table with a bang, feeling irritated, exasperated, and pretty damn vulnerable. “Look, I don’t want to talk about it, okay? Kind of painful.”
Easton looked me over for the longest minute that ever lived. My cotton shirt was very short, barely covering my ass. I never slept with a bra on and the cool air from the fridge kept hitting my nipples.
“Hey, Claudia?” Easton Malone said quietly.
“I should really go back to bed. Good night, Easton.” I turned and took a step away from him, away from trouble.
“I remember your prom night,” he said.
I was confused. But I turned around again. “What are you talking about? I didn’t go to the prom.”
“I know. I was still in middle school your senior year but they put me on the varsity team so I got to spend a lot of time at the high school. I heard stuff. I heard about how that twat stick you were supposed to go with that night was fucking, ah shit, whats-her-name…big tits, orange hair, works at the gas station up the Turnpike now.”
“Megan Dietz.” I hadn’t thought about any of this in a while.
“Yes!” He slapped his thigh. “Megan Dietz. I was across the street at Eric Fontana’s place when that asshole showed up anyway, which was either ballsy or stupid on his part. You came roaring out of the house in cutoffs and a tank top and gave him a god almighty earful. Shit, you told him exactly where he could stick that sad boner that was trying to poke through his fucking zipper. It was awesome.”
“Wow.” I shook my head, embarrassed. “What the hell were you doing, spying?”
“Sure, I was totally spying. I stuck around even after Eric’s mom told me to leave because she didn’t want me hanging around for dinner. About an hour after you chased your would-be date off, you came outside and sat in the backseat of your grandpa’s old Chevelle. The one that belongs to Jack now. You smoked through the open window. You
stayed there a long time.”
My mouth was dry. I remembered it clearly, the doomed feeling of adolescent heartbreak. It wasn’t that much different than the tidal wave of adult heartbreak.
“How long did you hang out there, watching me?”
“Long time, Claudia. I was waiting.”
“Waiting for what?”
He shot me a twisted grin that warned he was going to say something scandalous. “For you to notice me. Call me over. And initiate me all over the vinyl seats.”
I was in the process of taking a drink and ended up choking on my beer. It dribbled down my chin and I clumsily wiped it away with the back of my hand.
“Initiate you? Into what?” I already knew. I shouldn’t have asked. I was opening a door that needed to stay welded shut.
Easton shifted in his chair. He was completely serious. “You know that was a hell of a hot possibility for a fourteen year old, watching the sexy girl he slaps his shit around to every night and praying she’ll look his way, that she’ll sit up and wave right before she pulls down the strings of her tank top and shows him-“
I dropped the beer bottle. It shattered all over the tile. I stood there, stupidly staring at broken glass and fizzing beer puddles while Easton reached for the paper towels. He knelt down and quickly mopped up the mess, gathering glass shards into one large palm before heading to the garbage can.
“Don’t worry,” he said smoothly once he’d disposed of every piece he could find. “Nothing disturbs Papa these days. He can hardly hear a thing even when he’s wide awake.”
I couldn’t say anything because my thudding heart was taking up all my energy.
Dammit, this is Easton Malone. He’s a kid.
No. He was a kid. Now he was something else. And god help me, I wanted it badly.
I kept hearing the words he’d said a moment earlier. How years ago he’d been watching, and waiting.
“So what are you doing now, Easton?”
He closed the lid of the trashcan. “I’m cleaning up your mess.”
“Before that, when you were sitting in the kitchen in the middle of the night. Are you still waiting?”
He was right in front of me now. He was tall, easily six foot four. He was too close. I was getting breathless, lightheaded. Easton pretended to brush a wisp of hair from my shoulder but he let his hand linger. It was a practiced move. He’d probably used it on half the nubile young things that populated Lutztown High. Curiously, that didn’t bother me at all.
