Wren turned around on one heel with his eyebrows raised as he strolled back to my door. “Actually… I was wondering if you might let me take you for a drive?”
“Yes!” I shouted, causing his eyebrows to rise higher. I’d been such a flake since the moment we met, but I was ready to calm down and make the most of 1949.
Without giving him the chance to change his mind, I turned to run back inside. I hadn’t realized how messy my room had gotten. I thought about cleaning but decided it was pointless considering he had already seen it. I grabbed a dress from the pile of yellow on the corner chair and ran to the bathroom.
“Feel free to come in,” I said over my shoulder before shutting the bathroom door.
Taking a few deep breaths, I stared at my face in the mirror. It was as puffy as my hair, which made me look even younger than I normally did. I ripped off my pajamas and threw my dress over my head. My hands shook as I slipped each yellow button through it’s hole, knowing Wren was on the other side of the door made the simple task of changing clothes problematic.
“I’m sorry for the mess.” I came out tying a blue polka dot scarf around my head. It was long and silky and came down almost to my shoulders in the back. It was my favorite of all the scarves I had bought because it made my eyes pop. It was also the only hairstyle I could pull off and still fit in.
“Have you been standing there the whole time?” I asked with a silent laugh. Wren was standing by the motel room door with his hands stuffed in his pockets.
“Say, you look real good,” he said instead of answering.
I looked the same as I had every other time he’d seen me, but I did feel different. I wasn’t sure if he could see the change or if he was just being polite. Diving into 1949 was no mistake. History wasn’t changing because I was there, it would have changed if I hadn’t come.
j
Ten minutes later, we were on the other side of the bridge on the mainland. It was Saturday and there were easily triple the amount of boats on the water as there had been during the week. The island of Port Swan looked beautiful across the waterway of the sound with all of the houses reflecting on to the glistening water.
Wren turned left leading us away from the view. He drove under a metal archway adorned with swans on either side that read, Davenport Vineyard in metal letters across the top.
“This is my family’s farm,” Wren said, pulling his truck in front of a large white farmhouse surrounded by rows and and rows of grapevines. “My grandparents live in that house.”
Like so many other times since I’d landed, I was five years old again. I saw my mother running through the grapevines, and I felt my hand in hers as I trailed behind. I smelled her vanilla skin reaching down to place a sweet grape in my mouth and I heard her asking me how I liked it. I felt the warmth from her half moon smile melt into me as she listened intently to my answer.
“I’ve been here before,” I said like I’d had a new awakening.
Wren shot me a side eye. “I thought you said you’d never been to Port Swan?”
I licked my lips. “Right… I haven’t. I must be thinking of a different vineyard.” I shook my head like I was an idiot, laughing at myself for forgetting.
Wren ran around to open the door for me, meeting me eye to eye as I scooted to the edge. He’d instantly forgotten about my slip up, his eyes said so. I slipped my hand into his firm grasp as he helped me jump down. I didn’t let go until both feet were firmly planted on the ground.
As Wren led me away from the truck, his fingers grazed the lower part of my back making my heart’s rhythm skip into a new beat. I looked up at his perfectly shaven face and knew that Luna wouldn’t be happy with how he made me feel.
“I’m going to ask you to shut your eyes now,” Wren warned. His small serious eyes changed as often as the weather, they were intensely green next to his matching shirt . I gave him a questioning look and he responded with a slightly wounded, “Don’t you trust me, Nessa?”
I immediately shut my eyes and placed my hand in his for the second time. The heat of the sun warmed my shoulders and through my eyelids I could see its yellow-red glow. The ground was bumpy and the sandy grass tickled the tops of my feet peeking out of my flats. When the glow of light behind my eyelids changed to dark, he stopped us.
“Can I open my eyes,” I whispered.
“Yes.” His breath was quick and hot as it whispered into my ear. When he pulled away the softest part of his lip touched my ear lobe. A rush of cold shot through me, turning to heat the further down it went.
A quilt was laid out under a large shade tree with blank canvas and a basket filled with paints and brushes on top. A perfect hazy view of the matchbox lighthouse across the sound nestled itself just between the trees. On the tree next to the quilt a butterfly was carved into the trunk, just like the one on the pier. I gasped touching my chest, and blinking back tears at the sight in front of me.
“You said you wanted to paint and pick grapes.” Wren said, pulling my attention away from the carving. “I thought it might be nice to check off two things at once.”
I couldn’t seem to find any words that were good enough to say what I felt.
“I just thought you might need something good.”
I nodded, throwing my arms out wide to wrap around him. I squeezed tight with my face nestled against his smooth neck and whispered, “thank you.”
j
In school, I had taken an art class every semester, but the freedom was limited. I always dreamed of drawing things that were abstract and colorful, things that didn’t serve a purpose. I looked out into the flat field of grapevines watching as Wren’s farmer hat bobbed up and down as he picked. The fear of an ugly painting hovered over me like a thunderstorm. It seemed wrong that I was relaxing in the breeze coming off the water while he worked.
I looked up at the butterfly on the tree as if it were flying around and watching me think, like Gina was the butterfly. She never mentioned carving more than one, or wrote much about being at the vineyard, but she had because it was a twin copy of the carving on the pier.
The soothing waves of the sound rolled against the wet sand of low tide. All of my built up worries melted out of me into the salty water and sailed away as I began to paint. A wild array of colors swam across the canvas like squished grapes lying in a porcelain tub. I played with colors, mixing until I got the right shades. Once the background was filled, I painted a silhouette of Wren walking through the vines, carrying a basket filled with grapes.
“Is that me?” I heard from behind me. I stared at the art I had just created in horror. A urge to erase it all and paint something more normal ran through me.
“Maybe,” I shrugged, looking up at Wren with a nervous grin. His cheeks were red and his white t-shirt was damp with sweat from the early fall heat.
“I like it,” he said, his voice genuine.
“Thanks.”
“I brought you something.” From behind his back he presented a basket filled with grapes, just like in the canvas. “Try one.”
I picked up one of the firm olive green balls, unsure of how to eat it. I remembered it being tricky the first time I tried one with Gina, and how she helped me when I couldn’t get it.
“Bite it. Suck out the meat, then spit the seeds into the skin.” Wren instructed, sitting down on the quilt next to me. His teeth looked pearly white next to his dirt covered fingers as he placed a grape in between his teeth and bit down making it pop.
He wiggled the whole grape around in his mouth, holding the skin in his hand. Seconds later, without much effort, he spit the seeds into the shell. It was an art form, like tying a cherry stem with your tongue. Timidly, I followed his lead, biting the grape and hearing my own small pop. I pushed the seeds out by running my teeth along the inside of the grape meat then spitting them into my hand. I held them out they were a trophy I was expecting applause over.
“You’re supposed to spit them into the
skin,” Wren laughed. He brought his hands up to mine, placing one underneath and used the other to sweep the seeds across my palm into his. Both of our hands were sticky hot from the September humidity, but I didn’t care because his hand was on mine for the third time. Emotions pulsed through every nerve and every heartbeat sendt thousands of butterflies flying into the rushing flow of my veins.
Lying parallel to my bare legs, Wren leaned back on the quilt and placed his hat on top of his stomach. “Would you mind if I rested for here for a minute?”
“Can I pick grapes with you after?” I asked, as if it were an ultimatum.
His plump lips parted as his chest steadily moved up and down. I ran my eyes down his body stopping on the small sliver of stomach showing just above his jeans. A line of hair went down the middle accenting his tanned abs. His jean covered legs were crossed over one another, and his boots were hanging over the side of the quilt onto the sunburned grass. Wren lived life like the late summer day we were living in. He seemed content and happy with a life as a farmer and lighthouse keeper, but I wanted to see what was hidden under his kind-hearted exterior.
He peeked one eye out from under his toned arm and nodded. With his eyes shut, he jutted his hand out to reach for mine. Palm to palm, for the fourth time, he pulled me down patting his chest with his opposite hand, inviting me to lay my head down.
I watched the bright sun dance through the leaves above us as I rested my head on Wren’s chest. His heartbeat was slow, the opposite of mine. I looked up at him, my face so close to his I could have kissed him, and I shivered despite the sweat that covered my body. I couldn’t remember a time when I’d ever felt safer or when my presence was wanted.
I moved my face closer to his letting the slight prickle of his facial hair tickle my lips. I took in a deep breath taking in the natural scent that he gave out. I puckered my lips and gave him a kiss on the cheek. His flat cheekbones bubbled up into balls, and his teeth showed as his lips turned up into a slow smile. He pulled me in tighter and kissed me on the top of the head leaving a swarm of tingles swirling down into the pit of my stomach. I shut my eyes and let the full weight of my head rest on his chest. For once, I didn’t feel left behind, I found a place to call home.
Fourteen
n
1. Find a place to call home.
2. Paint my life.
3. Live like the weather.
4. Buy a yellow dress.
5. Refill the basket with food.
6. Visit the vineyard.
7. Look for the house on Luna Road.
8. Read the journals.
9. Find Gina.
10.
“What do you think?” I asked Wren as I placed my house keys down on the counter. It was September 20th, and I still had a little over two weeks left in 1949. I paid cash for the cottage that sat next to Louise and Jo’s, just like Gina asked me to do, and got it for less than the asking price.
“It’s a dream,” Wren said, running his hand along the tile countertop in the cramped kitchen. He scratched his jaw as he turned around to enter the main room.
Except for the bathroom and bedroom, the house consisted of one main room with access to a loft that made up half of the a-frame ceiling. The long window that ran along the full living area let in a flood of light, even with a looming gray sky outside.
“It’s starting to rain,” I said, stating the obvious. I looked out at the inlet of water covered in raindrops pinging up and down. Quiet rain hit the window, growing louder the darker the sky got.
With Wren following behind me, I climbed the twelve step ladder up to the last stop of the tour. The loft roof was high enough for me to stand, but Wren had to hunch his shoulders over. I sat down against the rectangular window that mirrored the larger one below.
“I have to ask you something,” Wren said, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck as he sat down next to me. “You came out of nowhere, bought the nicest set of pajamas I’ve ever seen…”
I blushed pink as I watched him raise one eyebrow as he mentioned my pajamas.
“Now, here you are buying a house. How are you managing all this?” He looked to me for an answer, but I stayed silent. “Rosemary said she never met anyone named Vanessa at the lighthouse. How did you know her name if she’s never met you?”
A bolt of thunder broke through the clouds and punched me straight in the chest. I replayed all of the moments we’d spent together since I’d been in Port Swan. I wasn’t fitting in how I was supposed to, and he was seeing straight through me. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think. I tucked my knees up to my chest and squeezed them tight with my arms.
“My folks are coming back into town this weekend and I’d love for them to meet you, but I don’t know what I’d tell them. All I really know about you is your name… and I don’t even call you that.” Wren said.
I looked over at his desperate eyes. My life was the last thing I wanted to talk about, but for him I was willing. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything, Nessa, anything,” he begged.
“I’m an orphan.” I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders as I admitted my life’s biggest burden.
The wind was whipping the rain hard against the windows and sloshing the inlet waters up in waves that crashed onto the grassy bank. Another burst of thunder broke through, followed seconds later by a bolt of lighting that lit the dark gray sky. The small loft filled with a light that made us both jump back from the window and move across to the other side.
“How do you have money?” He asked, biting the inside of his cheek.
“I’ve been saving it my whole life. Plus, my family left me some,” I answered.
Wren reached over to me and took my hand in his. Softly, he rubbed his thumb against the top of my hand. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I said, as a shiver ran through me. He placed his arm over my shoulder and pulled me into him. “My mom was too young to have a baby.”
“Don’t say that,” Wren said, staring at me intensely with his face so close I could feel the heat radiating off of his skin. “It’s never okay for a parent to leave their child.”
I held my body tight careful not to move. I wanted to stay in his arms for as long as he’d have me. Another crash of thunder boomed so hard it shook the house. I leaned in as Wren snuggled me closer.
“Tell me something else,” he whispered, with our cheeks nearly touching.
“My birthday is coming up.”
He leaned closer until his cheek grazed mine and our heads rested on each other. “How old will you be?”
“Eighteen. I usually celebrate alone, but I might be able to make an exception this year.” I bit my lip, feeling heavy tingles from my head to my toes.
“If I were George Bailey, I would get you the moon for your birthday.”
I pulled my head off of his and turned to face him. He was quoting, It’s A Wonderful Life, the movie Gina and I watched every one of our thirteen nights together. It had been my favorite movie ever since.
“I’ll take it,” I said just like Mary did to George, allowing a ridiculous, bottled up smile to come out. He laughed in the back of his throat showing off his laugh lines.
Wren lifted his hand, tucking a loose piece of hair behind my ear. The sound of the pounding rain seemed distant, all I could focus on was his breathing. He licked his lips and touched them to mine. I loosened my hands from my knees, bringing them up to his face. My pulse raced through my fingertips as I ran them through the back of his hair.
I leaned my head back and let him part my lips, allowing him to kiss me deeper. He tasted just like I thought he would, of muscadine grapes and menthol with an afterthought of the indescribable taste that was simply him.
Just as his tongue grazed mine a pounding on the door jolted us off of each other. Bang, bang, bang! Wren flung off of me and ran down the ladder to the door. I followed.
Louise
and Jo, huddled under an umbrella, walked in past us without being invited in. A hatred toward Louise for ruining the moment burned my cheeks, but Jo’s beaming face made up for it.
“We really are neighbors!” Jo ran across the room, giggling. “I’ve been asking all day to come see who moved in.” She leaned in close to me and whispered, “I wished it was you.”
My heart swelled.
Being in Jo’s presence made the entire jump feel worth it. Her baby face was tainted by the older version of her I had met on the pier before jumping. It made me smile to think that I knew a little piece of her future and that she looked happy when I saw her there.
Louise took in the surroundings of my small home, her blue heels tip-tapping as she moved. She moved her eyes from me to Wren.
“How are you this evening, Miss Marshall?” Wren asked, nodding his head at her.
“Just fine Warren, thank you for asking.” Louise moved her attention Jo. “We should let them get back to… whatever it is they were doing.”
My face burned.
Jo got up quickly and ran across the room to her mother. “I almost forgot! I made you a pie!”
I’d been so transfixed on Louise’s scary face that I hadn’t noticed the glass covered dish in her hand. Jo took one slow step at a time toward me not daring to take her eyes off her masterpiece until she handed it off.
“It’s blackberry. I picked them myself from the bush in your yard, I hope you don’t mind.” Jo said.
“Of course I don’t mind, pick all you want!” The imperfect golden crust under the glass lid was cut with sun-like marks around the edges, a deep plum filling seeped out of each one. It was the most wonderful dessert I’d ever seen. “Thank you, so much.”
The balls of Jo’s cheeks went extra round as she looked over to Wren. “You can have some too.”
“Well thank you, aren’t you sweet.” Wren’s old-fashioned boy nature made me go weaker in the knees every time he spoke, and seeing him be so kind to Jo only made me more weak. Jo’s smile radiated, making me wonder how she had such high spirits with Louise for a mother.
On Luna Time Page 8
