Wanderlove

by Malory, Belle

  The sound of a distant hammering came from one the yachts. I listened closely, trying to scout out the sound. Eventually, I noticed a boat that stuck out like a sore thumb from the rest. A “fixer upper” would be the appropriate term for the pathetic looking pile of faded wood.

  I thought I saw someone onboard, but I wasn’t sure. I moved closer so I could see more clearly. I was bizarrely drawn to the crappy boat. Dimly, I noticed the name Sea Lily etched into its side panel.

  Pretty name, I mused

  There was a man on board, a younger man. He looked like he was maybe a few years older than me. He held a hammer in his hands. From the way he was bent over, it looked like he was laying some flooring down on the interior. He turned slightly and his features came more clearly into view.

  I think my heart stopped.

  He had to be the most beautiful guy I’d ever seen. . .and for some inexplicable reason, he was the most intriguing guy I’d ever encountered. I couldn’t tear my eyes away. I simply stared at him, gawking like a fool.

  It didn’t make sense, my captivation of him. It was almost like I’d never seen a handsome guy before. My family had its fair share of beautiful people. I would like to think I wasn’t the least bit vain; however, I did recognize the fact that my family seemed to breed with exceedingly good genes. My father and most of my cousins encompassed an almost unreal celebrity type of gorgeousness about them.

  But the guy I was staring at had something else about him entirely. It was almost an ethereal beauty, a presence that just captured my complete attention. I was hard pressed to say that maybe I was a little envious of him. That thought forced me to realize I was a just a tiny bit vain. . .

  There was nothing so vastly different about him compared to all the men I’d ever encountered. He was slightly taller than average, I’d say about six-foot-two or so. He had dark brown hair and a bronzed complexion, probably due from the endless Florida sunshine. I couldn’t tell what color his eyes were from where I was standing, though if I had to guess, I’d say they were a darker hue.

  Curiously, there was nothing incredibly remarkable about him. Well, aside from the obvious perfection of his acquired muscle mass. He reminded me of the Grecian sculptures I visited while I was in Athens last summer. In truth, the man was perfect in every way possible. . .but I couldn’t even begin to fathom why he outshone every other handsome man I’d ever come across. There was just something about him.

  I had to move closer, so I could make sure my eyes were not deceiving me. My feet walked along the pier of their own accord, my eyes staying locked upon the young man. As I grew nearer, I realized he could sense my presence. I thought I saw him look up at me, but he quickly looked away. Weird. . .

  When I reached his boat, he didn’t stop working. I was clearly in his line of vision, but he continued to hammer at the flooring directly beneath him.

  “Um, excuse me?” I called to him loudly, wondering what on earth I was going to say.

  He eventually stopped hammering, straightening his body to his full height. He was altogether too breathtaking this close up.

  He wore no shoes, some khaki shorts and a faded U.S. Navy t-shirt. I found myself wondering if he’d actually been in the Navy. He looked like the type, I supposed.

  The man finally tossed the hammer down on the table beside him, squinting up at me through the sunlight. Gray, I noticed his eyes were a dark shade of gray.

  His delayed reaction to my presence caused me to believe I was some kind of unwanted interruption. And now that I had his attention, my mind lost its course of action. I wanted to kick myself.

  “Yes?” The deep baritone of his voice sent chills down my spine. I couldn’t comprehend why he was affecting me to this extent.

  Say something, my mind screamed. I looked away, back towards the golf cart, and noticed my trash bag. I finally remembered why I walked over to this part of the beach in the first place. Ask him about the cans!

  “Um, I was wondering if I could ask you a question, if you have a moment?”

  He merely nodded, imploring me to continue speaking. I still sensed I was interrupting him in some huge way.

  My nervousness caused me to speak a little quickly. “Well, you see, I volunteer for Habitat for Humanity and I was helping to clean up this area of the beach today. Anyway, I came across this line of soda cans. It was the weirdest thing. There were a bazillion of them and they eventually led me to this pier. . .” I took a breath to calm my anxiety and waited for his confusion to take root. Thankfully, he just waited for me to finish speaking. “Well, I was wondering if, since you’ve been out here working on your boat and all, if you happened to catch sight of the person who is leaving all these cans behind?”

  His face was without expression. He was proving to be exactly like the Grecian sculptures- carved out of stone.

  Finally, he said, “Sorry. Didn’t see anyone.”

  I waited for him to say more, feeling like an idiot. No other words escaped his perfect lips.

  “Oh. . .really? Nobody at all?”

  It bothered me more than a little that he didn’t seem as freaked out about these cans as I was. He could have at least provided me with some small portrayal of the bewilderment that I had felt at following a mile long trail of soda cans.

  “Nope, no one.”

  His abruptness did not put me at ease. He even picked his hammer back up.

  “Oh. Okay, well, thanks anyway.”

  “No problem,” he replied, then turned his back to me.

  While walking away, I became incredulous. I knew I shouldn’t be surprised by his rudeness. The man was truly gorgeous. It was no wonder he acted like he did. Perhaps it bothered me so much because I was used to guys trying to pursue me, being extra sweet to please me and going out of their way to help me. Luca used to tell me in a very annoyed voice, “They fall all over themselves trying to win your favor.”

  I scratched my head in contemplation, wondering what went wrong. . .I guess I was a little sweaty today. Not to mention the guy on the boat had to be at least five or six years older than me. But still. . .it bothered me. In quick, heated strides, I snatched up my bag of cans and walked back in the direction of the golf cart. At least Christo taught me to be more humble, I thought to myself resentfully.

  After I thought about it and my temper had cooled somewhat, I became annoyed with myself for relating my confrontation with the beautiful man to my own looks and appeal. I needed to realize that I simply came into contact with someone who was just plain rude. There was nothing else to it. And if I didn’t stop over analyzing everything, I was bound to pick up some bad traits of my own.

  I smiled, feeling better. I would just forget the rude guy and finish what was left to clean up along the beach. There was no reason I should let something so insignificant affect me to this extent. I had more important tasks at hand. Like cleaning up the rest of this beach. . .

  By the time my work was done, I was exhausted. But it was a good kind of exhaustion. The kind where one feels accomplished.

  It wasn’t until I had made it back to the house, showered and sat down to eat lunch before I figured out who the man on the boat was. I nearly choked on my turkey sandwich, remembering the arms that had been wrapped around me during the night of the storm were the same arms of the man on the boat today. It had almost slipped my mind, seeing the remnants of a tattoo sticking out from beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt. Some sort of tribal design. He was the angel!

  Well, I suppose I could let the angel theory go now that I could see he was perfectly alive and human. There was just something about him. Something I wished I could put my finger on. . .

  Nonchalantly, I strolled into the living room where Miriam was lying on the couch watching her soap opera. She had applied a cream mask applied to her face, the exact color of seaweed.

  “You look like an alien,” I remarked.

  She arched a brow. “Lo, you really need work on your bluntness.”

  I smiled. I starte
d to ask her about the angel/boat guy, but she put her finger up as if to tell me to hold on. Apparently, her soap opera was at some dramatic climax she didn’t want me to interrupt. She was sitting on the edge of her seat in anticipation. I drummed my fingers along the arm of the couch, waiting for the commercials. I couldn’t help but feel irritated. I hated soap operas.

  Finally, the commercials started and Miriam once again remembered I was alive and in the same room with her.

  “Grams, I need to ask you a question about your neighbors who rescued me the night I came to Florida.”

  “What is it?” I couldn’t be sure, but it looked like she stiffened, as if she were uncomfortable with me asking about her neighbors.

  I decided to be direct with her. “Does one of them own a boat down by the pier?”

  “Yes, I believe so. Gabe just bought an older speedboat he was planning to fix up, but I don’t think he’s got it running yet. Why?”

  Gabe, like Gabriel. I almost laughed at the irony.

  “I recognized him today when I was doing my volunteer work. He was there doing some handiwork on it. Hey, do you know--”

  “Do you think that really works?” she asked, changing the subject and throwing me off. She pointed to the television at a commercial for some medical solution that supposedly makes your eyelashes grow.

  “I don’t know, Grams. Hey, he’s kind of strange, isn’t he?”

  “Who?” she asked, caught up in the commercial. Or, at least she appeared caught up in the commercial. For some insane reason, I felt like she was purposely dodging my questions. Super annoying of her.

  “Gabe, your neighbor, who helped rescue me.”

  “He’s sort of quiet, I suppose. Why?”

  I shook my head, remembering the scene on the beach. “He just struck me as odd. Not the very friendly type, you know?”

  “You spoke to him?”

  “Yeah, it’s a long story. There were all these soda cans and I was only asking him if he knew--”

  “That’s nice dear. Tell me about it later?”

  I couldn’t believe her. Miriam had completely cut me off. Twice! One glance back at the television and I could see why. Her soap was back on. This conversation simply wasn’t working. Giving up, I decided to go finish my lunch.

  “Sure,” I mumbled.

  Just as I was about to leave the room, Miriam spoke up again.

  “You know,” she said, pausing to listen to one of the characters speak for a moment, and then beginning again. “Gabe is Annika’s fiancé. They’re planning to announce their engagement at the family’s annual Fall Festival.”

  Miriam paused to look at me from the corner of her eyes, like she was waiting for my reaction. “You’ll have to come, of course, and meet the whole family. They’re good people, every single one of the Constantins. Annika is as happy as I’ve ever seen her. Anni and Gabe, they make a lovely couple.”

  “Oh, I didn’t realize. . .that’s nice.” My voice went limp.

  I turned to leave, heading in the direction of the kitchen, but the strangest thing happened after she finished speaking. It was like the pit of my stomach dropped out from under me. I didn’t understand what was happening or why I felt like I did, so I quickly left the living room to get out from Miriam’s sight.

  I didn’t go back to the kitchen to finish my lunch. I ran straight up the stairs to my bedroom, as fast as I could. As soon as I closed the door and latched it shut, I fell to my knees, sliding down the wall.

  It felt like I couldn’t breathe. It felt like my heart was beating so hard that it might explode from the inside of my chest.

  My God, I’m having a panic attack, I thought to myself.

  I couldn’t place it, couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me. Why was I reacting this way? What had Miriam said that was so wrong?

  I closed my eyes to focus on my breathing. In the past, these sorts of reactions had been triggered out of the blue. Something in me just snapped. Auntie Zetta told me it was probably due to my incapability to remember my past lives. She told me certain words, phrases or occurrences could bring something out in me that I felt on a more basic instinct. She had also provided me with steps to calm myself and to focus, in case I might stumble upon an old memory.

  Carefully, I lied down across the woven rug in my bedroom, spreading my arms and legs out like DaVinci’s Vitruvian Man. Zetta’s soothing voice filled my mind, repeating the steps for me.

  Step One: Close your eyes.

  This step mainly allowed me to tune out any distractions.

  Step Two: Focus on breathing and clear your mind.

  I breathed in. I breathed out. I allowed my mind to think of nothing except my breathing, until it slowed to a normal pace. Zetta called this step meditation. She said you couldn’t begin to focus until your mind was a clean palette.

  Step Three: Allow yourself to acknowledge what you’re feeling.

  I tried to allow myself to feel, without it taking over me again. What emotions had enveloped me earlier? I think they came from a source of pain, but I couldn’t be sure.

  I shouldn’t be trying to think. Zetta told me not to think during this part of the process. She told me I needed to feel what was bothering me first. I had to feel it, in order to figure out my thought process.

  So I attempted to feel whatever the emotion was once again…and then I figured it out. It was betrayal. I felt betrayed to my very core.

  As thoroughly confusing as that new information was, I didn’t let myself ponder on the reason for the betrayal.

  Step Four: Let your thoughts develop from within.

  This part was the trickiest. I always seemed to give up before I could hear myself think anything. But I was focused, and I had to see this out. I focused on the betrayal, allowing myself to feel it on every level of my being.

  It was a long time before I was able to hear the words come to me. In fact, by the time I heard anything, tears had formed in my eyes due to this horrible sense that I had been wronged. When I finally did hear myself think the thoughts, I wasn’t positive I had heard myself correctly because it was just the barest of a whisper.

  Mine, I thought, Gabe is mine.

  SIX

  Most of the night I spent curled up in bed, trying not to think about anything. If my own thoughts didn’t make sense anymore, I figured I should probably think about nothing for a while. It didn’t really work.

  The house was extremely hot tonight. The knob on the fan was turned all the way up to full blast, but it wasn’t helping very much. I pinched the thin fabric of my silky tank top away from me, but my skin was sticky with sweat and the material simply clung back to my body as soon as I let go of it.

  I emerged from my bed to open the window, hoping there might be a cool breeze somewhere in the balmy air tonight. As I did, I noticed Annika’s black Mazda pulling into the driveway. She slammed her car door shut and ran inside the house. She raised her sleeve to her eyes. It appeared as if she were wiping away tears.

  I knew I should probably go back to bed, but I couldn’t help my curiosity. I quietly snuck downstairs and waited in the stairwell beside the kitchen. A moment later, I heard her come in, overwrought with emotion. Miriam was already waiting for her there. She usually did whenever Annika came home late.

  “Anni, my dear girl, what happened?” Miriam asked worriedly.

  I peeked out of doorway, just a tiny bit, so I wouldn’t intrude upon them.

  Annika’s green eyes glittered with tears. Her long, blonde hair was tousled and her clothes looked rumpled. She was a mess, which, for Annika, was extremely unusual. Normally, she kept an impeccable appearance, without even the slightest hair out of place.

  “He broke it off, Grams. Gabe doesn’t want to marry me anymore.”

  Miriam took Annika in her arms. She patted her head soothingly and stroked her hair, in only the way a loving grandmother could. Annika cried in small, quiet sobs.

  “There, there, child. Everything will be alright.”r />
  “No, it won’t,” Annika murmured in a broken voice. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. I never even saw it coming.”

  Annika suddenly pulled away. She stared at Miriam strangely for a moment. “You’re not asking me why he called it off. Why?”

  Miriam held her breath for a moment too long.

  “You know something!” Annika cried. “Don’t toy with me, Grams. If you’re not telling me something--”

  “Anni, stop it. What could I possibly know?”

  Annika tilted her head in contemplation. She seemed uneasy. “You’ve known the Constantins for a long time. And I know that family has hidden secrets.”

  Miriam sighed exasperatedly. “I don’t know any secrets, Anni. Now, I know you’re upset. But you really need to try and calm down.” She motioned Annika towards a stool. “Sit, and I’ll pour you a glass of iced tea.”

  Annika obeyed despondently, while Miriam searched for glasses.

  “Now tell me what he said.”

  Annika shrugged. “He didn’t say much,” she said bitterly. “He told me that he cared for me, but wasn’t in love with me. He said this marriage wouldn’t be fair to either of us. Better to break it off now.”

  Miriam took the tea pitcher out of the refrigerator and brought it to the island. She poured the liquid slowly. “That’s strange,” she remarked. “Has he never told you he loves you before?”

  Annika shook her head. “Now that I think about it, no, he hasn’t.” She raked her hands through her blonde hair, clearly in frustration. “Was it all a lie, Grams? I always thought he showed his love for me in other ways. I just assumed since Gabe was such an introverted person, he just wasn’t capable of saying many words of love. I assumed his proposal of marriage was a clear indication of his feelings. Obviously, I was mistaken.

  “And I was the one who pushed him into this wedding…God, how could I have been so blinded? All I was thinking about was how my picture-perfect life was finally coming together. I never stopped to question how he truly felt about me, or anything, for that matter.”