I grab her hips and tug until she falls on top of me, hardened nipples grazing my chest. I run my hand down her perfectly rounded ass, gripping tightly and pushing her into my hard cock. My eyes roll back in my head from the delicious friction.
She pulls away slightly, then presses her lips back to mine before pulling away again, landing on her knees. She rests her forehead against mine and keeps her eyes closed. “Wait,” she exhales. “I can’t … I shouldn’t … I don’t know…”
“It’s okay, Celia. Just breathe. Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours,” I say, running my hand down the length of her arm and taking her hand, giving her the time she needs to gather her thoughts.
She shakes her head and opens her misty blue eyes. I see through her, inside the deepest parts of her, and she can’t hide the war within herself. The push and pull. The want and regret. The battle I’m fighting to win is taking its toll.
“My heart isn’t mine to give. I wish it were, but I lost it a long time ago. I don’t think I can be what you need. What you deserve. I’m not available for that sort of thing,” she whispers softly. Her expression is pained, and I want to fight her. I want to tell her how wrong she is—her heart isn’t lost, it’s only confused. I will fight her on this, but now is not the time. I give her a slight nod and let the issue lie … for now.
“C’mere,” I say, raising my arm in invitation. “Lay back and listen to the music.”
She scoots closer and puts her head back in my lap and closes her eyes. I rest my head on the tree and do the same. The birds put on a hell of a concert. As time passes, Celia’s breathing evens out, and I think she’s been lulled into an afternoon nap. I’m not far behind when Celia shifts slightly, grabbing my attention.
“They worry about you, ya know?” she whispers.
“Mom and Mo?”
“Yeah. They think you’re a grazer—that you’ll never settle on anyone.”
“Is that so?” I chuckle and roll my eyes.
“Yep,” she answers with a giggle. “Mo says you’re a cow grazing the field. You chew the cud, spit it out, and keep on moving.”
“Women are the cud in this analogy?”
“It seems so.”
I let out a sigh. “I’m not a grazer, Celia. But I refuse to make promises I can’t keep.”
She remains quiet. From the outside looking in, I guess I look like a grazer of sorts, and I’m not sure how to make her understand my point.
“The thing is, I had a girlfriend in college. By girlfriend, I mean I was faithful and had a good time with her. Unfortunately, it meant something different to her. She saw an engagement ring, wedding bells, and two-point-five kids with the last name Bennett. There were lots of tears and hurt feelings when things ended. I take responsibility for that—I wasn’t clear from the beginning. Kimberly didn’t deserve that.”
“So now?”
“Now?” I shrug my shoulders and smile. “I keep things light. When my feelings change, so will my approach. Until then, I won’t promise anything more than a good time. Promises are just pretty lies.”
“Promises are pretty lies,” she whispers, then turns away from me, curling her knees into her chest.
“Hey now,” I say, tugging a wisp of her hair. “Where’d you go?”
She breathes in deeply and shakes her head. “I’m here.”
Every time I feel I’m making progress with Celia, something pulls her away from me again. I can’t get a hold of what’s on the other end of this tug of war. The only thing I know for certain is I’m not fucking letting go. I’m gonna break through this fog, and she’ll see what I’ve known all along—she and I could be great together. Who am I kidding? We’d be fucking amazing. Epic.
“The question is, are you ready for the real show?” I say with a waggle of my eyebrows and a tap on her back, coaxing her to sit up.
“There’s more?”
“Pfft,” I say with an eye roll. “Who do you think you’re talking to? I’ve always got something up my sleeve, girl.”
I stand and dust off as she giggles and joins me. I turn around and motion for her to jump on my back, and she hops on without hesitation.
“Now, bringing Biz out here is absolute mayhem, but there’s no reason we can’t make a little ruckus, right?” I ask, turning to meet her eyes.
“I … guess ... so,” she answers. “What exactly do you have in mind?”
I shoot her a mischievous smile and wink as I spread my arms wide. Fingertip to fingertip, I can touch trees on both sides. I grab branches on both sides and give them a hard tug, then holler as I shake down the house.
“What the…” Celia yelps as the birds shoot out of the trees—a spray of color, feathers, and caws showering us in unison.
Celia bursts into laughter as I break out into a full run, grabbing branches all the way down the row. Feathers brush our faces like raindrops, and several strategic ducking maneuvers keep us from getting pummeled. I turn back and see Celia’s head thrown back on a howl, fist pumping the air. She’s never looked more beautiful.
When I reach the end of the row, I bend over and grab my knees to catch my breath. Celia tightens around my neck and waist, hanging on as giggles overtake her. I stand up and turn around to survey the damage. Feathers of every color litter the ground, some still fluttering in the air. The melodic music from before has morphed into full-on squawking, and I fear there may be retaliation in our future.
“Celia, I think we should get out of here before this turns into a Hitchcock movie,” I whisper as I take silent steps of retreat.
Her eyes grow wide, but her smile stays firmly in place. “I think you’re right—about the Hitchcock movie … and about earlier,” she says as she gives my body a tight squeeze.
I smirk and chuckle as quietly as possible. “What am I right about this time, Tink?” I whisper.
“I may just want to be happy.”
With every word, she makes my heart pump that much faster, that much stronger.
I’m gonna teach you to live again, Tink, just you watch.
“Running to Stand Still” by U2
The Past
I REACH THE end of the corridor and find the office door open, and I know he’s waiting for me. I stop short of the entryway and take a moment to collect myself—to plant the phony smile on my face. It’s the smile everyone expects from me, and I’ve never been one disappoint. I rap my knuckles lightly on the doorframe before giving myself too much time to dwell.
“Ah, Celia, my illustrious valedictorian. Come in, come in, have a seat,” Mr. Bernard, my school’s guidance counselor, says as he walks around his desk and sits down in one of the guest chairs, tapping the other seat with his hand.
“Hey Mr. Bernard. I know I’m supposed to give you a copy of my graduation speech today, but it’s not quite ready. I’ve been so busy, and I need a little more time—”
He taps my knee in comfort. “No worries, I know you’ve been busy, my dear.”
I look away, unable to meet his eyes. I have been busy, but that’s not the reason I don’t have a speech to show him. The truth is, I’m finding it exceedingly difficult to be inspirational lately. How can I deliver a speech about bright futures and following dreams when I feel mired in perpetual darkness?
“Thank you, sir.”
“So, it’s Northern U in the fall, I hear. Full scholarship, of course.” I nod my head and force a smile. “Well, they’re lucky to have you.”
“I’m honored they chose me.”
“The next four years are some of the best, Celia. You be sure you get your head out of the books every once in awhile and enjoy it, ya hear me?”
“I will, Mr. Bernard. I’m so excited for the fall,” I lie, but thankfully he doesn’t take notice.
I can’t muster up an ounce of excitement for the future, because I’m living day to day at this point. Who can think of frat parties and dorm life when I’m constantly worried about Lucas? About Grams? How can I be excited for the future whe
n I can’t shake this ominous feeling? What if keeping Lucas’s secret is the worst decision I’ve ever made?
The smallest things are a struggle for him lately. He obsesses over his thoughts being stolen. He’ll only eat packaged foods now, for fear he’s being poisoned. If there is even the tiniest indication the packaging of the food has been tampered with, he refuses to eat it.
“You’re dating the Landry boy, right?” I nod my head at him, and he beams. “High school sweethearts—my wife and I dated in high school, too. You two make such a sweet couple.”
I lower my eyes in what I’m sure Mr. Bernard mistakes as bashfulness. The truth is, Lucas’s and my relationship has evolved into something very different lately. We’re partners in crime—co-conspirators. The moment I made Lucas that dreadful promise, the dynamic of our relationship shifted. I’m the inventor of excuses, the creator of distractions, and the author of endless lies.
“I just saw him grab a plate of food before you walked into the kitchen, Audrey. I’m sure he’s eating upstairs.”
“He’s been chatting on the phone with another student all afternoon, Mr. Gene. They are trying to work through a new assignment they just received.”
“I had it all wrong, Grams. Lucas is just really stressed, that’s all. I jumped to conclusions—everything is fine.”
Yes, I’ve become adept at evading questions, redirecting suspicions, and swallowing the unrelenting guilt that threatens to choke me every day. My deceit fools our families, but it also chips away at our love, bit by bit. In his eyes, where I used to see love and affection, I only see fear and darkness. His touch used to remind me of home. Now, I feel uncertainty and a frenetic current of electricity—a live wire, unpredictable and chaotic. No, we are no longer the sweet couple I remember.
“I bet he’s wowing his professors at Northern U. That boy is destined for great things.”
“Yes, sir, he sure is,” I say as my cheeks ache with effort, my smile feeling like an actual chore.
The truth is, I can’t remember the last time Lucas attended class or worked on anything that looks remotely like coursework. There are no independent assignments—his email is full of correspondence from his professors wondering why he’s missing in action. I’m honestly shocked administration hasn’t called the Landry house and demanded an explanation. They have invested a great deal of money into Lucas. He is by far the smartest person I’ve ever met, but now his thoughts, and his notebooks, are riddled with paranoia and delusions.
“Are you going to live on campus? Honestly, it’s the best way to experience campus life.”
“I’ll stay at home with Grams for now. I want to be there for her,” I say.
“How’s your grandmother doing? I hear she’s been home for a while now.”
“She’s amazing,” I say, with the first genuine spark of excitement. “She’s improving every day, getting her independence back a little at a time. She’s done everything short of kicking me out, but I’m not ready to leave her just yet. She’s given up so much to raise me. I want to do this for her … I need to.”
My refusal to move to Providence in the fall is a constant bone of contention between Grams and me. After coming so close to losing her, I’m not ready to let go. She doesn’t have to understand it, but it’s the way I feel. She’s the only family I have left.
Even if Grams never had the stroke, I still don’t think I could leave Lucas. He’s in no shape to move out of his house right now. His secret would be found out for sure if he moved into the dorms. And even though his family doesn’t know about his problems, I get a small amount of comfort knowing they are in the house with him. I think their presence keeps him from completely unraveling. He has to keep it together if he wants to continue to fool them.
“I think that’s very admirable of you, Celia. You’ve taken on a great deal of responsibility as of late, and I have to admit, it’s worries me sometimes. Always remember there is no shame in asking for help, okay?” Mr. Bernard lays his hand on top of mine and squeezes gently. “Whether you’re a student at this school or not, you can always come to me if you need anything. You’re not alone.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bernard. I’ll remember that,” I say, standing up and placing my purse strap on my shoulder.
I appreciate his kind words more than he will ever know. I’ve never felt so alone in all of my life, and I want nothing more than to confide in him. His offer is a life raft in a black, stormy ocean.
If only I could reach for it.
I walk quickly to the door, willing myself to keep quiet and get the hell out of there. “I’ll get the speech to you by the end of the week, I promise,” I say over my shoulder as I dart from the office.
I don’t even hear his response. I drop my head and keep walking toward the parking lot. I unlock the door and hop into Grams’s old Buick, eager to get home and check on things. These days, I never know which Lucas I’m going to get. He’s become temperamental.
I don’t particularly care for driving. I never have. I’ve always happily hitched a ride with Audrey or Lucas, but I’ve recently started driving to and from school. Creating a bit of distance between Audrey and me is difficult, but I hate lying to her. So instead of lying, I opt for avoidance. Needless to say, she’s not taking it well.
“I’m leaving in three months, and my best friend doesn’t even care!”
I’m so happy for Audrey, really I am. She’s been dreaming of attending Ole Miss for as long as I can remember. But part of me thinks she’s deserting me—like she’s leaving me behind to deal with this mess while she moves on with her life. I know it’s ridiculous, completely ludicrous to blame her when she’s completely in the dark, but I wish someone would explain that to my heart. Because my heart is so angry.
I pull into the driveway, no recollection of the turns and stops I made to get here, and hurry up the front steps. For the last few weeks, Grams’s nurse’s aide leaves at noon, a testament to how well she’s been doing. Before heading over to see Lucas, I toss my bags in the corner and walk to the back of the house to check on Grams.
“Grams, I hope you didn’t give Miss Freda too much trouble this morning. I know how you like to turn up the soaps to tune her out,” I call out as I pull out my phone to shoot Lucas a text.
She doesn’t answer me, and I can picture her rolling her eyes and cursing under her breath.
“That damn woman never hushes her blessed mouth.”
“Grams?” I call out again when she doesn’t answer.
I grab the remote off the recliner and tap the power button to silence the infomercial echoing through the house. I toss the remote on the coffee table and walk down the hall toward Grams’s bedroom.
The next few seconds come to me in wicked bursts. Indelible flash frames of heartache and anguish.
Flash.
A slipper-covered foot sticking out of the bathroom into the hallway, toes facing down.
Flash.
The incessant, grating sound of a phone left off the hook, the call never made.
Flash.
A smear of blood on the corner of the cracked Formica counter.
Flash.
Grams, face slack, arms twisted in an unnatural angle, and blood trickling from her temple, in a heap on the bathroom floor.
Then everything goes dark…
“Sitting, Waiting, Wishing” by Jack Johnson
Present Day
I PACE IN front of The Courtyard, wringing my hands and plotting Alex’s death in the most creative ways I can think. Celia’s been here for over an hour, and I’m crawling out of my skin.
Speed dating. Are you fucking kidding me?
I replay Celia’s explanation in my head, but it doesn’t help to calm my nerves.
“Why does she need you to go with her? Alex is a big girl. She needs to put on her big girl panties.”
“Don’t be so mean, Cain. She’s had a hard time lately. That jerk from her past has her all twisted up, and she’s trying to move on. Sara’
s dating Adam now, and Marlo … well, she’s Marlo. Enough said, right? She needs our support right now,” Celia explains.
I’ve never known Adam to have a girlfriend before, but his status unexpectedly changed a few months ago. A new volunteer at the clinic, Sara Preston, caught Adam’s eye, and things heated up quickly. Sara’s a great girl—easy on the eyes and fun to be around—and she’s quickly become a welcome addition to our make shift family. She, along with a couple of her friends.
Now, the jury is still out on Sara’s friends. I get along great with her artist friend, Alex. We’ve actually played a few rounds of golf together. She always beats me by a few strokes, which is quite a blow to my fragile male ego. She’s a pretty cool chick, so I let it slide. But now I’m on the fence again since she roped Celia into this speed dating shit.
Her friend, Marlo, aka Red-Lipped Nosy Girl From the Bar, is another story all together. I keep hearing her obnoxious little voice. “You’re never getting in there. Don’t waste your time.” What the hell does she know? And what are the odds that she would end up in my group of friends? The first time we were introduced, she gave me the universal “I’m watching you” sign as soon as Sara turned her back. Yeah, well I’m watching her ass, too.
“She needs support? Buy her a Hallmark card, bake her a cake. Don’t take her to spend time with greasy douchebags who want to stare at her tits. Tink, come on. This could be dangerous. What if one of these guys is a nightmare stalker?”
Storms Over Secrets Page 9
