by Sam Crescent
“So what are you?” she asked as her curiosity peaked.
Dean smiled and drank more of his coffee. The suspense was killing her.
“Tell me what you want to be,” he said instead.
“How do you know I want to be anything?” she countered.
“A hunch.”
Laura stared at the floor and thought over her decision. Dean would be the first person she’d told of what she wanted to be.
“All right, don’t laugh. Promise me.”
“I promise.”
She rubbed her hands over her thighs. “I want to be a writer.” The admission felt fantastic, like she’d just released a deep dark secret.
Dean didn’t laugh. He smiled. “Did that feel good?” he asked.
Laura nodded. Telling someone about her dreams helped. “Yes. How did you know?”
Dean placed his cup on the table and leaned forward. He pressed his hands together and rested his elbows on his knees.
“When I told my family and friends that I wanted to be an author, they all laughed. They said it was a pussy profession and that I didn’t have what it took to write good stories.”
“What did you do?” Laura asked.
“I proved them all wrong.”
Silence met his answer.
He had the most amazing blue eyes she’d ever seen, like the depths of the ocean. She shook her head to clear her thoughts.
“Are you telling me you’re a writer?” Her heart rate picked up. Not only because of being the love of her life, but also because of his admission.
“I’m a writer,” he confirmed.
“Of what? How long have you been writing? Is it amazing?” So many questions ran riot through her head.
He laughed and took her cup from the table.
“I write novels in the more risqué category and let's just say that I’m doing quite well for myself," he answered. "It looks like the storm has died down. Do you need a lift into town?”
Their conversation was getting along great and Mother Nature decided to put a halt to it.
“If you don’t mind?” she responded. She grabbed her bags and followed him out of his house.
The drive to town was quiet. Laura had to try to keep her attention away from the hot man sitting next her. In no time at all he was pulling up outside the diner. She groaned when she saw how busy it was.
“Are you serious about becoming a writer?” he asked as she reached for the door handle.
“Yes. It’s my dream.”
“Okay. Stop by my house. I’ll clear it with your parents and we’ll work on your technique. I take it you have some stories you’ve already written?” he asked.
“Short ones, and they’re really badly printed.”
“Bring them. I’ll give them a read. Be aware though, I 've never done this and you’ve got to be prepared to learn,” he warned.
“I will. I promise. Thank you for the ride and everything.” She got out of the car and watched as he drove off before entering the crowded diner.
On entering she saw that Peter and his gang were already seated in her work area. Great, she thought. Another afternoon with having to be kind. Laura walked into the back and changed into her uniform. Kasey, another waitress who was about two years older, was putting on her make-up.
“You made it then?” she asked.
Laura nodded. She tied her hair into a ponytail and took a fresh menu pad off the pile. “Yes. Dean Riley gave me a lift into work.”
“He’s got a cute ass,” Kasey commented.
She ignored Kasey and grabbed a coffee pot on the way out. Several customers needed refills. Orders were taken from a few others. With every second the place got rowdier.
A child spilled shake all over her uniform and another splattered tomato sauce. By the time she made it over to Peter and his gang she looked a wreck. When she reached their table she stared down at her notebook, mentally squaring her shoulders for the tease and taunts that were about to happen.
“What can I get you?” she asked. Avoiding eye contact usually worked.
“Wow, you look a mess,” Russell, one of Peter's cronies remarked..
“I mean your order,” Laura said. Fatal mistake. She looked up from her pad and saw that all six men were staring at her.
“Have you even glanced at the menu, yet?” Laura asked.
They shook their head.
“Then why did you signal me to order?” she inquired.
“Because we know what we want. Six orders of cheese burgers and fries,” Peter said, interrupting the other guys.
Laura wrote the order down, thankful that he’d stepped in. She kept her fingers crossed with hopes that the library would open up for jobs. Working at the diner was a royal pain in the ass.
Chapter Three
Dean drove to the supermarket after dropping Laura off. He was long overdue on some groceries, especially if he wanted to eat for the next few days. He thought about the young woman he’d dropped off. She was sweet looking and definitely a lovely person to talk to. He hadn't noticed any interest in him from her and he liked that. He couldn’t deal with any woman’s interest in him. After the death of his wife and child by a drunk driver, he was passed all the romancing and love talk. He spent most of his days writing. Although his editor had been in touch with him and told him that he needed to start writing lighter stuff, in his heart all he saw was the darkness, the darkness of being alone and knowing that his wife and little boy would never walk through the door again. The pain was so intense that at times it caused him to stop and breakdown for days.
On the night they’d been killed, they had been at a book signing. Carla had wanted to get little Frankie home and instead of telling her to wait for him to finish, he’d decided to get a taxi. When he’d gotten home, Carla and Frankie weren't there. They’d been killed on the highway by a truck driver who hadn’t stopped and who had had one too many beers. No matter how much satisfaction there was in knowing the driver was firmly behind bars, the pain didn’t stop. Carla and Frankie were still dead and nothing would bring them back.
“Mr. Riley?”
Dean came out of his memories to see a woman staring at him. He knew right away it was Mrs. Cox.
“Sorry. I was thinking,” he said and pushed his trolley along the deli section. He ordered some pancetta and cheeses.
“I’m so sorry to bother you, Dean," Mrs. Cox said. "I just wanted to thank you for taking care of Laura.”
“That reminds me,” he said. “Laura wants some extra help with her English over the summer and I’ve offered to give her a hand. If you have any problems with my helping her, I’ll call the whole thing off.”
Laura's mother shook her head. “Don’t worry about it and call me, Deirdre.”
Dean took the offered hand and continued on. Everywhere he went he noticed that women were giving him the nod and men were glaring at him. He didn’t want any of their wives. For the rest of his life he’d be happy to spend time alone.
When he was back in his car, he found himself staring toward the diner. Laura would make a good writer at least he hoped so. He didn’t want to be the one to tell her to give up her dream if it turned out that she was awful at creating.
Dean started up the engine and drove back home. He’d moved to Cape Falls after finding that being in his old house in the city had become unbearable. Dealing with the memories was too painful. This new house was supposed to be a new life and a new start. As always, he’d go and visit his wife and child at their grave sites.
The front door opened easily and he went straight to the kitchen to put away his purchases. After making a steaming cup of coffee, he walked to his study where his laptop and livelihood awaited. The blank screen was not a comforting sight. He sat down and leaned back in his chair. He then closed his eyes and waited for the muse to come back, the muse who’d abandoned him when he first moved in. Seconds trickled by and then a thought. Dean opened his eyes and began typing.
She’d blasted
into his world from the unknown. No one knew her, nor could see her, but to him she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. To many, her brown hair might seem a dull shade. To him, the many tints of brown sparkled in the sun and glowed as if to bring warmth to a winter's day. He yearned to reach out and see if it was as silky smooth as it looked. Like many times, his hand moved and yet didn’t touch. Forever he’d be void of the pleasure.
He sat back and looked over the words. There was no clue as to what he was writing. The words didn’t sound right. They were a start and, according to his editor, either he lighten the tone or they’d have to reconsider his contract. Closing and rubbing his eyes, he went back to typing.
All summer he’d been alone and now this lightness had appeared. The other people in the village didn’t have the first clue as to what to make of her. They only saw a freak, a woman too perfect to understand. He saw passed the fear and the pain. For many years he’d fought worse demons and now was the opportunity to find peace.
“What is your name?” he asked of her when he found her by the lake. She wasn’t doing anything wrong, merely staring out at the water.
“I can’t tell you,” she whispered.
“If you can’t tell me, what shall I call you?”
The mystery woman turned to him and smiled. “You shall have to give me a name until you’re ready to hear mine.”
Dean sat back and took a sip of coffee. His mind was working overtime. Was this piece a historical? A futuristic? A paranormal? He did not know. The words simply flowed out of him with ease, an ease he hadn’t felt in too many months. Had offering to help Laura opened the floodgates to his own writing?
Chapter Four
Dear Diary,
The most amazing thing happened today. Not only did I get to meet Dean and to talk to him, he offered to teach me all the details of writing my very own story. Do you know how wonderful that is?
Laura glanced up from her notebook to see Dean waiting for her outside the college grounds. He’d phoned the previous day and offered to pick her up from campus. Earlier in the day she’d been informed there would be only one week left of classes as the rest of the faculty members would be leaving for early vacation. She didn’t mind. More spare time for her and the job at the library in Cape Falls had finally opened.. After spending time with Dean, she intended to go to the library and apply for the position and then quit her waitress work at the diner.
“Afternoon,” he said as she got into the car.
“And to you. It’s so hot,” she complained.
“Last time I checked, heat in summer was a good thing,” he joked.
Laura saw Peter staring at the car and she gave him a wave. There was no need to be rude.
“I guess," she replied. "But if you think about global warming, then we should worry.”
“No," Dean responded. "I recycle and try to walk everywhere. I figure, providing we all do our bit, then we should be okay. Leave it to the scientists of this world to tell us what we’re doing wrong.”
Dean pulled up outside his house and they walked together through the main door. He stopped as they got to another door.
“I have to warn you. No human besides me has ever passed through this doorway. What you see is top secret and shouldn’t be told to anyone else,” he warned her.
“Cross my heart. I won’t tell another living soul about your place,” Laura assured him.
Dean waited and the waiting was killing her. She wanted to see where he wrote and the type of room he’d created in which to write his stories. She’d tried to search his name on the Internet, but nothing came up, only a backdated paper describing the accident with his wife and child. She hadn’t read any of the papers. She figured in time he’d tell her about it.
He finally opened the doors. The room was large with minimal furniture. A few bookcases lined the walls. A sofa was positioned in front of a fireplace and next to the large French windows sat a dark mahogany desk with his computer on top.
“Have I ruined any of your ideals about writers?” he asked her.
Laura shook her head. “It looks perfect to me. This is exactly what I’d have wanted for my office.” There were few distractions. “May I?” She pointed at the desk.
“Be my guest.”
She placed her bag on the sofa and walked to sit behind the desk. “Do you work often in here?”
“Every day. When the words come, I sit and write,” he said.
“It’s amazing.” She rubbed her hands along the edge of the desk. The computer was switched on and she saw a few documents he had left open.
“I searched your name on the Internet, but couldn’t find any of your titles.”
“Interested little minx, aren’t you?”
Laura nodded and stood. “Always.”
“You wouldn’t find any titles because I use a pen name," he explained. "I’m not going to tell you my pen name yet. Did you bring those stories I asked?”
“Yes.” She grabbed her bag and pulled out a folder. In every aspect she had tried to be mature. There were a few explicit stories she’d written after watching a particularly raunchy film on a cable channel. She didn’t have a clue what she was writing. The words had just flowed from her heart, which she thought was a good thing.
“I’ll begin reading through some of these while you go and make us both a drink. I like mine with milk and two sugars.”
“I’m a glorified slave,” she moaned.
Dean chuckled. “No. You’re here for me to help you and nothing in this life comes free. Be careful or I’ll have you cleaning the walls.”
Making the drinks was easier said than done. Every draw and cupboard needed to be opened to find what she was looking for. When she glanced at the clock, she couldn’t believe twenty minutes had already passed. She needed to go back in and give him his drink. Would he hate her writing? More nervous than she liked, Laura walked back into his study.
Her folder was open and Dean was bent over reading her words. She placed the cup on his desk and turned away to sit on the sofa. The silence was unbearable. Laura tried to think of all the words she’d written over the past five years when she had started writing.
Her rubbed her hands together and the clock suddenly sounded very loud in the small space. She felt open as he perused her work. After some time she heard him close her folder. There was no way he’d read everything. The folder was thick with sheets of paper and all in order with the very first story she’d ever written at the back. She glanced his way and saw him staring at her.
“Are they awful?” she asked.
“How old are you again?”
“Twenty.” She bit into her bottom lip. What would she do if he said they were crap? Shit, doing this was a mistake. She should have kept her writing dreams a secret.
“Okay. Your work is great. Brilliant for your age, but I can sort of tell that you don’t have a lot of experience with this stuff. There’s a lot of head hopping and mistakes that a publisher or editor will catch you out on.” He spent the rest of the afternoon showing her mistakes and giving her advice on writing.
She loved every second being in his company and learning from him.
“Do you really want to learn?” he asked.
“Of course, I’m here.”
“Right, how about you starting a fresh story? We can work on these at a later date. College is almost out and I think we can have a summer project. You write a story in any genre you want, romance, crime, whatever. You decide and I’ll help you work through it and by the end of the summer I expect a fully completed manuscript.”
Every word he spoke sounded like a dream come true.
“Deal.”
“But, I’ll expect you to work around the house and explore every avenue. By working and trying out new words will help develop your writing skills.”
“Double deal. I agree with all the terms. I promise that you won’t be disappointed.” She walked over and shook his hand to confirm the deal. She also tried to i
gnore the tingle as he touched her and his fingers wrapped around hers.
“Bring your laptop and I’ll set up a desk and new portal for you,” he told her.
Laura nodded her consent and as Dean drove her home, her future looked brighter already. She’d be spending most of the summer with the man she loved. No better way to pass the time.
* * * *
Dean made sure she got home safely before pulling away. He then drove for three hours straight until he pulled up outside the cemetery. The wedding band still lay on his finger and he got out of the car. His wife and son lay together under a tree. He hadn’t brought any flowers with this visit. All he wanted to do was see them and to let them know he would never forget them. Other people were visiting a relative or loved one. He ignored the others and attended to the graves of his own loved ones. The dead flowers from his last visit were removed.
“I’m sorry, Carla. I didn’t bring any fresh ones for you to look at.” He spoke to the stones often. “I’ve been a little busy. You wouldn’t believe what I’m doing. I’m tutoring a young girl, well, a woman. She reminds me a little of you, filled with dreams, but scared to unleash them. You’d like her.”
He ran his hand over the grass. The tears holding firmly in check as he thought of Laura. “I don’t know what I’m doing, to be truthful. Her writing is so innocent and honest. I get the sense she’s quite raw and needy. Being in Cape Falls doesn’t do well for her self-esteem. She’s constantly being overlooked by everyone. I think she’ll make a good writer.”
