by Bree Dahlia
She leans back and crosses her arms. “Got a better explanation, then?”
I swallow my food and take a sip of water before answering. “Yes, I do. It has to be because of work and the stress he’s under.”
“Like he’s never been stressed at work before?”
“No, he has, but I’m also not bringing in any money yet—”
“So? Cain doesn’t care about that.”
“We never had an old home to take care of before. But probably the biggest thing is that he hasn’t been sleeping well. He keeps getting up in the middle of the night, and that’d make anyone crabby.”
She rushes forward. “Now, we’re getting somewhere. Do you happen to know what time his uncle died?”
“What? What does that have to do with anything?” I grab the dessert menu and page through. I could use something sweet and gooey.
“It could be something. Do you know the time?”
“No, his aunt just told Cain when he woke in the morning. It was sometime….” In the middle of the night. I set down the menu. God, she’s going to make me crazy now. “Look, not everything unexplained is supernatural.”
“Says the woman with a graveyard in her basement.”
“I said it’s like one, not is one. Major difference.”
“All right.” She cradles her glass, swirling her fingers and making designs in the water droplets collecting on the outside. “How do you feel in the house?”
“I feel fine, just… uninspired,” I answer. “But I think that has to do with the condition of the place. I look around and want to fix things instead of draw.”
“Any cold spots? Electrical issues? Weird noises?”
“Only in the hall by the basement.” I begin ticking off her concerns. “That area is freezing because of, well, the basement. Electrical issues? Yeah, but it’s a frigging old house. That happens. And there were some strange noises in the walls, but Cain figured out it was just squirrels getting in and storing nuts.”
“At this time of year? Isn’t that a little early?”
That’s what I thought too, but I don’t say so. No need to encourage her. I listened to her ghost stories for hours before, but I have to reel her in when she goes off the deep end. Like now. My house is not haunted.
“Let’s change the subject.” I’m almost sorry I brought it up, but it did feel good sharing what’s been going on. Speaking about it made it seem less delusional. “To the reason why I couldn’t wait until the end of the week to see you.”
“And here I thought wanting to see me sooner was the whole reason.” Her grin reminds me of the crazy raccoon statue behind her, sporting a red bandana and cowboy boots.
“That’s absolutely right.” I hand my plate to the waitress and order a chocolate peanut butter shake. Rowan hasn’t even finished half her panini yet.
“So, what’s up?” She stuffs a few fries in her mouth; they almost tumble back out when she opens it again. “It’s Jake, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“You saw him.”
“Yeah,” I say softly.
She gives me some time before waving her hand around like the Mad Hatter. “And?”
“And it felt really natural, like we’d never split up. He looks better than ever too.” I drop my shoulders and sink farther into the chair. I’m not proud of the way I feel, but it is what it is. “As you can guess, I left feeling guilty as hell. Even though it was an accidental meeting at the park, the whole thing still bothered me. I was going to tell Cain, but then we got into a fight and… I called him.”
“Called who, Jake?”
I nod. “But not with the intention of talking to him.” She cocks an eyebrow. “I was really down after the fight and started reliving the past and drinking too much wine on an empty stomach. It was stupid, pretending like I was a teenager again, dialing his number for old times’ sake. I never expected him to answer. Who has the same number from when you were a kid?” I glance around. Where is that shake?
“So, what happened after he answered?”
“I hung up.”
She laughs. “You hung up?”
“It’s not funny. I panicked. I told you I never wanted to talk to him.”
She reaches across the table and takes my hand. “Once again, you’re too hard on yourself for no reason. I can’t see anything you did wrong here.” She narrows her eyes at me. “You’re not planning on seeing him again, are you?”
“God, no.”
“Then stop worrying about it and put it behind you. But don’t forget that there’s plenty in the past not worth reliving too.”
“I know.”
“You’re getting along with Cain now. You can always still tell him about Jake.”
“But now I don’t want to do anything that could change that.”
“Oh, Mads.” She squeezes my hand, then taps her chin. “Hmm. Do you think Cain already knows something’s up with your ex and that’s what’s setting him off?”
I want to applaud her for thinking inside the box for a change. “No, he’s not like that.” Cain’s protective but not jealous. He knows what we have, and the others don’t matter. I often wish for his confidence.
She sighs. “Yeah, I agree. It was just a thought.”
The waitress stops by, saying the kitchen messed up my shake. They’re making me a new one on the house. I ask her to put it in a to-go cup since we need to be wrapping it up anyway. I can drink it on my drive back.
“How the hell do they mess up a shake?” Rowan asks.
“Maybe they made it a malt instead.”
“Or maybe they added liquid cheese sauce instead of the peanut butter.” I scrunch up my face. “Or the shake guy has a nasty head cold and sneezed all over it.”
I laugh. “All right, that’s enough. If you keep talking, I’m not going to want it anymore, and I really want it.”
“Shit.” She glances at her phone, then pulls some cash from her purse. “I have to get back to school. I’m so sorry.”
“No problem, and put your money away. I got this.”
“You sure?”
I nod, whipping out my card. “You can get it next time.”
“Deal. Give me a hug.” I stand and she yanks me toward her. “It’s all going to be okay. You know that, right? You and Cain are written in the stars.”
I think of my wind chime, scattering light across the kitchen, and smile. “I know.”
She lets me go and swings her purse over her shoulder. “Talk to you soon. Give Cain my love.”
As she’s walking away, I say, “Say hi to the hot unavailable teacher for me. What’s his name? Chase, right?”
She turns her head, her eyes forming into slits. “You’re evil.”
I’m laughing as she leaves the restaurant, wishing I knew someone smart and kind and sexy and very, very available to set her up with. Bonus if he has a ghost fetish. Not that she wants to be set up. She wants to find him on her own, but her dream guy is taking his sweet time appearing.
I pay the check and leave with my family-sized cup. I try not to think of snot and other bodily fluids when I suck through the straw and it’s too thick to come up. Setting it in my cup holder to thaw, I hop on the freeway heading west. I glance at the rearview mirror often, thinking how Milwaukee is just a short drive in the opposite direction. Coming back to this area has given me a slight case of missing-itis.
I make a pit stop for groceries and remember to pick up extra lightbulbs. At the rate we go through them, I’m going to have to start buying them by the case.
“It’s all going to be okay.” It’s a simple comfort, but one I take to heart.
Rowan’s right. Cain and I are meant to be, written in the stars.
He’s my savior, my defender.
And I’m his stellina.
Seven
I rouse due to a hard cock pressed sharply against my ass. It’s uncomfortable and I shift over, still not fully awake. My pajama shorts are down to my knees.
He yanks me back to him.
“Cain,” I mumble. “What time is it?” He shoves inside me without answering, with no preamble, and my eyes widen. The room is black. “Cain, what are you doing?”
“I’m fucking you. What do you think I’m doing?”
It’s rough and fast, as if I were a convenient hole to fill. I’m not ready for him, for the intrusion. His tight grip around my waist is just as fierce, holding me still enough to slam into me. It’s the only place his hands touch me.
It’s over quickly, just as I’m beginning to adjust. He grunts out his orgasm, then pulls from me and leaves the room. He doesn’t call me his stellina. I don’t come.
I roll back over and fall asleep.
A loud banging wakes me again. This time when I pry open an eyelid, I see sun streaming through the window. I stretch my arms over my head and swing out of bed, the evidence of what happened earlier running down my thighs.
I go into the bathroom and clean up, thinking about the reason I need to. That was out of character for my husband. Rough is one thing. We’ve done rough. Cold is another. Even a hard, furious fuck can have warmth to it. But Cain used me as if I were a damn blow-up doll.
The banging is getting louder. What the hell is he doing at this hour? It’s barely six and it sounds like he’s taking a hammer to the wall. It’s a good thing we no longer have close neighbors.
I throw on a sweatshirt and head down, following the noise until I find him in the small alcove off the back parlor. It’s a room neither of us uses, and it’s at the bottom of our priority list to fix up. I’m not sure why he’s even in here.
He’s swinging something at the wall, not a hammer but a tool that’s just as destructive. Piles of old wallpaper lie in shreds at his feet, along with clumps of plaster.
“What are you doing?”
He turns his head toward me. “Come here. You need to see this.” I go over and he yanks off a piece of paper, hunks of the wall coming with it. “Just look at this shit.”
“I agree, it doesn’t look too pretty, but why are you even worried about this part of the house? We’re—”
“Pretty? You’re fucking worried about pretty?”
“Cain—”
“How about you start worrying about what’s going to happen when this fucking shit hole caves in around us.”
“That’s not what I meant. I—”
“Use your brain, Maddie. I know you have one.” He pokes his finger into his temple like he’s trying to puncture his skull. “This. Place. Needs. Serious. Work. Don’t you get it by now?”
I take a deep breath and turn around. Maybe if I just leave him be, he can work through whatever this is on his own. If he wants to tear down and rebuild a room we don’t even care about, more power to him. He can do it alone. I want no part of it when he’s like this.
“Where are you going?”
“To make coffee.”
“And then?”
I spin around. “What, now you’re letting me talk?”
He rolls his eyes. “I don’t need a drama queen. I need someone who’s going to help me do some goddamn work around here.”
“Drama queen? What the hell, Cain? If anything—just forget it.”
I storm out of the room, knowing it’s better to be pissed off than sad about it. It’s only been a week since our perfect day. What was the point of getting him back just to turn around and have him cruelly ripped away from me again? It was nothing more than the still before the fucking tornado.
“Don’t you care what it’s like for me, Maddie?” He’s behind me, following me. I don’t look back. “I work all day just to come home to this. I can’t make money fast enough to cover it all. Meanwhile, you’re just sitting around not doing anything. Not working. Not helping.”
Now, I do stop, spinning around to glare at him. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“I don’t think I did. It sounded like you said I don’t work.”
“That’s exactly what I said.”
“I work,” I say, a little softer. I’m thrown off a bit, but I regain myself before the sadness can take hold. I just cannot believe he’s saying this to me.
He snickers and I grab my bag off the kitchen counter, the one that holds my portfolio. I pull it out. “Then what do you call this?”
“An excuse.”
“What?” My throat tightens.
“Pretty soon that fucking portfolio is going to be so heavy you won’t be able to carry it around anymore. All I hear you say is that you’re not ready.”
“I’m not ready.”
“Bullshit. You don’t need to draw any more pictures. What you need to do is start putting yourself out there and getting clients so you can contribute some damn money to our house.”
“We move and you’re suddenly not supportive of me anymore?”
“Aren’t you listening? I am supportive of you, but that means nothing if you’re not supportive of yourself. There has to be a point where you say enough already and do something more than play around all day.”
“Drawing is not playing around.”
“For all I know, you’re not even doing that. You leave the house to do God knows what.”
Ocean Breath. I shove my hands in my pockets. “You know I go to The Gardens a lot. I don’t know how many times I have to remind you that you encouraged me to go the first time. It worked so well I keep going back.”
“I know you like to hang out in parks, but what, these trees aren’t good enough for you? I even put out a fucking bench for you next to the maples, to try and give you a little ‘inspiration’ at home for a change. But that’s right, only city trees are good enough.”
I thanked him for the bench already. It was a sweet gesture. I even tried it out for a time and ended up pulling two wood ticks off me. I’m not denying that the half acre of trees on the side of our house is breathtaking, but I don’t tell him any of this. Instead, I whisper, “Who are you?”
“I’m someone who’s tired of doing all this shit himself.” He fists a handful of his hair, then kicks the molding lining the floor.
The moment he walks away, I do too. I snatch up my purse and a bottle of whatever soda’s in the fridge. I don’t care what it is, as long as it’s sugared and caffeinated.
I can’t spend my Saturday here. I can’t be around Cain when he’s like this.
When I open the front door, I wonder if he’ll start bitching at me again, but either he doesn’t hear, or he doesn’t care that I’m leaving.
I get in my car, already clear on the destination. I have no intention of drawing there, only giving myself enough open room to breathe. Funny how our land is more space than anywhere I’ve ever lived put together, yet it’s stifling at best. On days like today, it’s a coffin. One of those sealed models that aren’t designed to allow in air. The kind that makes your body explode.
The sky is darkening, and I feel and look a mess. Perfect. By the time I make it into the lot, the fat drops are hard and fast against the windshield. I consider it a blessing in disguise. There won’t be as many people out on this gloomy Saturday morning. I just want to go to my spot without interacting with anyone.
I reach to the back seat and dislodge my umbrella. The moment I open the door, the rain rushes me. Maybe it’ll wash me clean. I set my flip-flop in a puddle and lean out enough to open the umbrella.
I squish and splash my way down the trail and over the footbridge. The covering above my head isn’t doing much to protect me from the wind blowing the rain sideways, but once I make it to my bench, there’s a small dry spot just for me.
The surrounding trees provide enough shelter for me to set my umbrella aside. I huddle my semiwet sweatshirt closer around me and watch the drops strike the pond. It has a hypnotic effect until it reminds me of tears. Ugly, messy tears that pour from your eyes and splatter your cheeks until they’re all mottled.
I look away. I am not going to cry.
I rest my head against the smo
oth wood and make a really bad decision. I realize it even as I’m pulling the phone from my purse. I only want to hear a friendly voice. His friendly voice. If he answers, I’ll hang up again, but I’m hoping for voice mail. That way I’ll get to hear his voice longer.
There’s a certain comfort in acting so childish, for going back to a time when secretly calling the boy you had a crush on would make you so giddy you were in danger of floating away. Jake was that boy for me.
I hunt and peck the numbers slowly as if I’ve never typed before, prolonging it. I would giggle if the clouds weren’t so dark and heavy around me. After hitting the last digit, I put the phone to my ear.
“Hello.”
Not a voice mail. My heart goes haywire and I close my eyes. I’ll wait for him to speak once more and then I’ll hang up.
“Hello?” I bring the phone down, ready to disconnect. “Maddie?” Um… what? “Maddie, is that you?”
I’m sure my loud swallow just echoed through the line. “I….”
Even if it was only one letter, I still spoke. Another bad decision. I drop my head, clutching my phone to my chest.
“Maddie, talk to me. Are you okay?”
His concern bursts through, rising up. I can’t ignore it. “I… I’m fine.” He sighs, and I swear in this moment, the rain turns fiercer. My tiny dry haven is drowning. “How did…?” The water is affecting more than the bench.
“I had a feeling that was you who called last week. Why did you hang up?” I nibble on my lip instead of answering. “Are you outside?”
“Yeah.” I prop my feet up on the bench and turn sideways, huddling my wet knees to my wet chest.
“Why would you be out on a day like this?”
I try to laugh, but it comes out as a puff of air. “You know me. I like to sit under the trees.”
“There are safer times to do it.”
“I’ll leave if I see lightning.”
He laughs, not just a weak attempt but a deep, hearty laugh that sounds really nice. Even if I didn’t think I said anything funny.
“That day I saw you leaving The Gardens… well, it’s good to know the place is still as special to you as it is to me.”
