All of These Things

by De Mattea, Anna

  “Yes,” I mouth softly.

  His hands claw at my jawline as I slip away, descending from the alcove of his chest.

  “Come to bed with me, my love,” he utters, magnificently pulling at my heart, and I’m exhilarated.

  Our fingers fasten as they lace through one another and love explodes, the sensation sweeping through me. I follow behind on a narrow stairway, wondering which door is our lucky one.

  “Where do you paint?” I ask, a new desire bursting up for the taking.

  “In there.” He points, directing my vision to the third door in the rectangular hall.

  “Show me.” I beam a coquettish smile.

  He leans in for a kiss, sucking at my lip.

  “Of course,” he says, and we stride towards it. Alec stops abruptly, seemingly pensive, and his darting gaze says it’s looking out for a tragic blow.

  “What is it?” I ask, growing distressed.

  “It’s rather disorderly in there. We’ll inspect my work tomorrow.”

  I’m muddled.

  “Is that it? I don’t want to inspect your work, Alec. I just want to see that side of you.”

  “And I want you to know it, too, but alas, Caroline, we’re not having any of that tonight. We’ll reconvene tomorrow. I promise,” he assures, distracting me with a peck on my forehead.

  His wayward defiance rattles me further, and it’s suddenly topsy-turvy in the hallway. I can hardly appreciate his contrariety, and so I test it again.

  “But I want to see it now. Why are you being this way?” I want to say defiant and cryptic, and this will plague me if he doesn’t open that door this instant.

  “Caroline,” he tries. “Love, I am not withholding any part of me from you. Surely you know this about me. I want you to have access to all that is me, but I’m afraid I’ll have to take up being the magistrate on this one. Let’s not ruin the evening, sweetheart.”

  “If you don’t open that door, Alec, you’re the one risking the evening. Do you know what scenarios are flying through my head right now?”

  He grabs me, claiming me, hungrily tugging my head back.

  “Why, Caroline? Why, why, why must you always resort to worst-case scenarios? Please don’t make this a thing. Don’t make this bigger than it is.”

  I pick up my wits to start up again after his kiss.

  “Don’t you dare pin this on me, Alecsander! You’re the one being all secretive. You’re the one that’s being all close-mouthed and uncommunicative.”

  My ire surprises him, as it surprises me. Alec smiles smugly with that smirk I’ve been obsessing about slapping off his face from the day we met.

  “Alecsander,” he repeats. “You are so mad at me right now.” His hands claw at my arms, and his eyes spark darkly. “Let this one go, sweetheart.”

  I shake my head.

  “What is it?” I demand. “Do you paint erotica, or maybe you forgot there’s a woman in there? Or is it that you’re some lunatic in the woods storing body parts. What is it?”

  “Of all the stubborn women in the world,” he says behind gritted teeth. “Alright,” he motions to the door. “I’ll show you, but,” he pauses for a quick beat, “do try to remember that sometimes an artist receives personal requests. Don’t make this into a world crisis, and try to have an open mind.”

  Alec has just slighted me. He really does believe that my instinct is to overreact. I’ve had loads of things to overreact on in my life, and yet I manage pretty damn well, thank you very much. Granted, around him and Sofie, the drama queen may reign in from time to time, but that’s not for the most part, and I don’t appreciate his assessment. To top it all off, yes I’m totally choosing to go over the top with this one.

  “Alec, open the door,” I command.

  He runs a hand through his hair.

  “Fine,” he answers dryly. “Just so we’re clear, I don’t hide anything from you.” He stares me down and turns the knob.

  I cross the threshold warily.

  The room is oyster white with a maple desk occupying much of the space. Behind it is a narrow, rectangular window cut through the wall, almost flush to the hill, exhibiting grassy roots and rocky soil. One of the house’s three decks protrudes from the patio door, and an easel is tucked in a corner of the room. I come across sketch books, completed canvases, and art supplies. They’re dispersed cautiously around the room, and so far I don’t know what the big deal is.

  I look to Alec for answers. He’s deadpan.

  I move in, eyeing the easel and walk around it for a look. I hear him drag a hefty breath. Bingo. There’s something about this painting that he’d rather keep from me. Tenaciously, I make my way to it.

  A range of blues crop up around a silhouette—a naked, pensive, come hither silhouette. I recognize the body of water as York’s but the woman rearranges like I’m looking through a kaleidoscope. I’m walloped by shocking fear—blindsided at first, but now I’m nauseatingly aware.

  Sofie!

  Nathaniel’s Correspondence with Dr. Toussaint

  I made certain the conversation ran short. I didn’t want to overwhelm Amalia, so I was very careful about that. She was busy around her vanity when I arrived, looking splendid in a taupe sundress with white polka-dots. I can usually depict her frame of mind according to how methodically she’s applied her makeup, and her lips looked soft and velvety in her favourite red-orange lipstick. Her hair wasn’t too heavily parted to conceal half her face, so I knew she would not be inclined to step out for a walk.

  I told her the magnitude of love I have for my daughter and her mother will not allow me to give Sandrine what she should be experiencing with a man. I want to be more available to help out, or reach out, in case the two of them need me and admitted that I don’t want to feel bad about that anymore. Afterwards, she and I shared a glass of iced raspberry mint tea from my niece’s homemade batch and spoke of Caroline and the weather. The good news is I don’t think she’ll be a struggle about attending group this Saturday. She’d like for me to sit in with her, and so we’ll come by your office together and say hello.

  Before I forget, can you tell me if Amy Walsh is back, or should we expect Jed Rosenberg? Amalia seems deeply concerned about that.

  PASSAGES

  Angel Mae: I not call Miss Caroline. I think to call her like I think to call Mr. Nate, but Miss Amalia say I no call anyone. So I not call. She take bath tonight, but no wash her hair. That’s okay. I know it’s not Miss Amalia’s shampoo day. It’s in the notebook. But after bath, she stay in robe long, long time. First she sit at makeup table, then at kitchen table, then at bed, and then again at makeup table. Miss Amalia sit and sit and sit tonight. I afraid she thinking too much!

  I not look at her. She not like it when I look at her. She not like it when I talk to her. Miss Amalia mean sometimes. I give her vitamins and hot tea—only hot tea in evening—but never thank you.

  After Mr. Nate leave, Miss Amalia think to move things, and I help her move. She bring makeup table in bedroom because she think Mr. Nate can put his bed in her dressing room. A room for Mr. Nate, now? But he have condo!

  Miss Amalia said she want to tell Miss Caroline to leave. She make me put daughter’s clothes in garbage bags because she think it helps Miss Caroline. But Miss Caroline not know this yet. I not want to ruin her vacation, and Mr. Nate maybe come back tomorrow and Saturday, so I wait to show him change in apartment.

  Now, Miss Amalia in bed. I don’t know if she asleep but she in bed, door closed and room black.

  Amalia: He’ll need a desk. He can fit one in my old dressing room, or he can make space in the living room. My vanity isn’t so bad in here, but I do have to collect my clothes from the second bedroom. With that girl’s things out of the way, I can manage here quite comfortably. There’s a lot to do. It’s better now that she’s older. Her baby things never made me
feel comfortable in my own home. They were constantly in the way, so overpowering to everything that was mine, and made things feel and look disorganized and chaotic. How is a woman supposed to think when her space becomes so hectic and untidy? It’s so much better now that she’s older.

  Nathaniel always says Caroline has a lot on her plate, so I’ve packed most of her things up with that wretched, hare-brained girl, Angel-Mae. She is so unbearably mousey—her voice so high-pitched and squeaky. I don’t know what that girl was thinking when she agreed to hire her. I’d be fine on my own, and Nathaniel could check on me just like he’s been doing. I honestly never go anywhere, so I don’t see what the problem is. She’d find me here the same way she up and left me.

  Is it my imagination or does my bed feel colder tonight? It’s not like this when she’s here, but it feels bigger and bottomless, lately. That incessant whirring sound from the stand-up fan annoys me, and I could switch it off, but if I get up then my mind may think it’s morning, and I’ll start rummaging. My brain is too awake, so it’s best, according to Dr. Toussaint, I just rest my body, willing it to sleep. Besides, then I’d have to deal with Charlotte from downstairs, moaning about noise when she and her shrivelled little mother try to sleep. I will have to keep a closer eye on her when Nate comes back. I like that he stands a few feet away from her when they speak, but she’s always leading him around the yard, yammering away, going on and on.

  I’m getting a headache. It’s not dark enough in here tonight. Did that chatty fool change something around on me? It’s impossible to fall asleep tonight. I feel like The Princess and the Pea.

  Ryan: Caroline’s never really been the type to call me with every thought and pretty much gives me the space I need. Actually, I really don’t need all this space because we don’t have that much time together in the first place. Her mother takes up most of it, and her father keeps her pretty busy at his firm. My place in her life should at least follow them, but there’s that Sofia-Marie around. I kind of wish Caroline made more time for me instead. I’ve been nagging her for a holiday, but who does she give into? Sofie.

  Caroline’s more mature than the other girlfriends and fiancées in our circle, well my circle. She doesn’t really have time for friends, and she’s the prettiest of the bunch without question. Is it so bad to want to show her off? I love having my girl on my arm, and I think it’s a compliment when people check us out. Thank God she doesn’t dress like her mom. That woman’s got issues. I know they’re not her fault but still—issues. I see her in passing when I pick up Caroline from their place, and she looks like a 1940’s pinup girl, the kind on a mechanic’s calendar. Actually, she’s pretty hot, but the woman’s definitely off. The dad’s cool, looks pretty strict though, and Caroline’s definitely a daddy’s girl. I’ve texted her three times now and nothing. What the hell is there to do in Maine, anyway?

  Chapter Nineteen

  It’s like a bad dream. My world has sunk, and I’m freefalling back into coherence. I want to cry from the rush of emotion. I’m so overcome that I want to hit him. In fact, I want to hate Alecsander Vaughn. What was I thinking? I’m tangled up with an artist, for Christ’s sake! My body clenches in horror, sick with dread.

  Sofie?

  No. No.

  It doesn’t make any sense, and before I demand an explanation, I must relieve this treacherous engorgement in my throat. When I meet this head on, I don’t want my voice to wobble and tremble. I will not be some pathetic girl who lacks an open mind like he obviously thinks I do, nor will I be some puny, frangible woman giving away her life stories.

  Alec looks petrified. Good.

  “Please don’t look that way, Caroline. Let’s just have a conversation about this. I assure you, it’s all quite simple to explain,” he endeavours.

  “And how, exactly, do I look to you, Alec?” I ask intrepidly, disjointing the words one by one in a staccato. “Am I making a big deal out of nothing? Have I made this into an international crisis, or perhaps I’m just being overdramatic? Because I wouldn’t want you to think I don’t have an open mind about things. In fact, I’m ready to play down the fact that you are painting my cousin—my best friend—naked.”

  He gazes at me, looking uncomfortable and beaten. Alec runs a hand in his hair and clasps his mouth, dragging a palm down across his chin.

  “She’s a customer,” he says.

  I recoil.

  “What?”

  “A customer,” he repeats. “In this instance, she’s most definitely a patron. In fact, Jason and Sofie ordered this canvas together last summer. Like I said, people do make special requests, like the O’Malley’s. They ordered the exact view from their home of Nubble Light, and Jason and Sofie are simply inspired by something else.”

  Alec sighs.

  “It’s truly as easy as that, love. Except, it’s also rather private, and I do wish those two clumsy idiots had come straight out with it. I forgot it was even here, to be honest.”

  “You forgot? How do you forget you’re painting a naked woman?”

  “Forgive me, sweetheart, but there’s this incredibly challenging, but spectacular blond dolly bird I’ve been hankering for, and she’s quite distractive, to say the least.”

  My mouth drops open, failing me.

  “At first, I wasn’t fond of the idea, but Sofie was adamant,” he says. “She absolutely wanted to give Jason this gift, and Jason’s just as anxious to receive it. I won’t lie, love, he threatened me if he thought I’d privately ogle his girl, but truth be told, we’re all very mature about it.”

  I retreat. There’s that hint of finger-pointing.

  “As opposed to me,” I say, “because I’m immature.”

  “What!” He draws back.

  “Well, apparently I’m stubborn. I make things bigger than they are—into a world crisis I think you said. That is what you said, Alec, isn’t it, or is my melodrama getting the better of me?”

  “That’s bloody rubbish!” he says, bordering on hysteria. “Alright, love. Granted, when it dawned on me that your naked best mate was in the other room, it sent me spiraling a little, and I panicked. I didn’t know how to prepare you for this. I’m not inclined for you to know what Jason looks like under his trousers, so I assumed this would not go well with you, either.”

  “Oh, you think,” I reply tenaciously.

  Alec looks exasperated.

  “They brought me a picture, Caroline. A picture!” he says. “Sofie didn’t stand here naked in front of me. As improbable as it may sound, that’s not my cup of tea. I suppose Jay snapped a few images, and they selected this pose.” He points to the canvas. “So I’m painting it.”

  “Why you?” I ask.

  “Well, how many artists do you know?”

  “But why are the three of you all hush-hush about it?”

  “Darling, it’s more than likely Sofie thought you’d have strong objections, and once she considered releasing the facts, you and I were already spending time together. She probably didn’t want to jeopardize my wooing you.” He grins, and a deliciously wicked brow arches.

  Damn. All fair points but more gnaws at me.

  What kind of life-ally does that make me? Sofie’s withholding things from me. We’re supposed to be dear and devoted, but I’m only just finding out about her moving to Maine, and how uninhibited she really is. There’s an element of betrayal or duplicity ascribed to this, and frankly, it has me re-evaluating my takes and perspectives. How miserable do I make her? Moreover, there’s a vulnerability factor to consider.

  Alec’s opinions, and the knowledge and information he’s collected on me over the course of these few days, was originally refreshing. It was a perfect change of pace—beneficial and effective until I thought the rug was pulled out from under me a few minutes ago. I realize how accessible I made myself for him, how obtainable and manageable I was. It’s a recipe for disaste
r! I’m left defenseless; like I need him to care and watch over me. I’m left exposed, and worst of all, susceptible. I don’t want to be inclined to risk or prone to harm. My mother’s condition serves me enough of that as it is.

  I shrink back. Alec’s anxiety is visible, appearing large and wide in his eyes. It’s intimidating and risky to look at him because his face dissolves every inkling I have to let him go.

  “Can I come closer?” he asks, regarding me intently.

  “No,” I say, and he nods reluctantly, his melancholy squeezing at my heart.

  “I wish you weren’t so disarming, Alec. But I need to say this, and you need to let me say it.”

  He flinches.

  I can’t possibly do this while looking at this man. I can still feel the glorious burn of Alec’s stubble around my lips, and his scent is imprinted on my skin. Red blotches linger around my collarbone from his hunger, and I cower for a second, a seismic wave of gloom and misery slowing me down and pulling me under.

  “Alec,” I attempt. “Alecsander,” I have another muffled go.

  “No,” he says. “No. Don’t leave me with nothing.” His eyes are brightly welled with tears.

  I swallow.

  I’m seized with panic as I try to collect my thoughts.

  “Please don’t say another word, Caroline. I beg you.”

  “Alec…”

  “Say you’ll think about us. Say you don’t know, and you have to think about us, but don’t leave me with nothing. I’ll wait an eternity, but please don’t leave me with nothing.”

  I close my eyes to the painful, beautiful memories flooding to the front of my brain—the story that was us only days and hours ago. Dread grips my throat. Panic gags me.

  “We’re not good for each other,” I utter shakily.

  He blanches.

  “How can you possibly say that?”

  “I told you. You disarm me, Alec. I don’t recognize myself when I’m with you. I let my guard down, divulging everything—feeling everything, and it’s so scary having no control.”