by Malone, Amy
Prologue
The water was ice cold on Alana’s skin. Skinny dipping within sight of my aunt’s house. Great idea, Mark. But she was smiling. Her neck and face, exposed above the softly rippling lake water, felt warm from the hot summer air. Mark was breast stroking around her in small circles, his naked member bobbing slightly above the surface of the water, teasing her to look. They talked and they laughed, alone on a night that felt like a different world. Undisturbed except by the background noises of June.
There were words between them, but they didn’t stick. Everything seemed to simply slide off the bourbon they had stolen from her aunt’s liquor cabinet. Her inhibitions boiled away in the bottom of her belly despite the cold lake water, and she felt something between Mark and her change. It was as if, standing together in a room with the lights off, they’d found the switch.
They swam close, the soft sound of Mark’s six-battery boom box (top of the line at the time) serenading them in the background. Their pulses quickened despite the slow music and their lips met firmly and with slow passion.
Mark took Alana by the hand and walked her out of the water onto the grassy lake shore. She plopped her naked bottom down on the laid out beach towel, leaning back onto her arms and letting Mark enjoy the sight of her perfect breasts and slim, hourglass form.
Prowling up to her slowly, he came down to touch lips once again as he gently pushed her back onto the towel. They were slow but intense, and began to pick up the pace. Mark caressed Alana’s perfect waist and generous hips. He loved the feel of her plump abundant lips, the smell of her fresh from lake.
He guided his hand down between her legs. They closed instinctively in response, Alana breaking from their embrace to look into Mark’s clear, blue eyes. He kissed her again, ravenously, and her legs relaxed as she was overwhelmed by his passion….
That night was the last she would see of Mark for a decade.
Chapter One
Alana peered out the window of the Greyhound, thinking. Memories of Mark’s naked, glistening form hovered in her mind - teasing. It’d been awhile since she’d seen Mark, but she still fondly remembered their days laughing and joking around together during the long, hot, boring summers at her Aunt Barbara’s house. Mark was a local she’d met randomly while bike riding, and they’d become fast friends. They used to go skinny dipping in the nearby lake when her aunt went down to town for groceries, Mark showing off his cut physique - earned during his long hours of practice for the high school football and basketball teams. Of course, she hadn’t seen Mark in forever. If she were honest with herself, she’d be a little disappointed to see him still holed up in her aunt’s small town. On the bright side, if he was still there, they’d finally get a chance to discuss what happened the last time they saw each other…
A tingle went up her spine, and Alana suddenly felt warm. She looked around, as if people in adjacent seats could sense her thoughts. No worries, there, she thought, eyeing the gruff looking man asleep in the aisle across from her as evidence.
It occurred to her that all things considered, her life could be a lot worse. She was recently divorced, sure, but at least now she no longer had to endure a relationship in which she felt neglected and underappreciated. Toward the end she’d suspected that Jeremy had been cheating on her, but at that point she hadn’t even cared anymore. At least she’d come out well in their settlement, losing almost all of the physical property shared during their marriage (thus the Greyhound on which she was currently riding instead of the Audi she’d gotten from Jeremy a few years ago), but keeping a sizeable portion of the money from their joint investments (i.e., most of it).
When she’d decided she didn’t want any more of the corporate life (or her very corporate, cheating husband) it had been an easy decision to sell her half and tell him good riddance. He’d wanted a fight when she’d first had the papers delivered to him, going so far as to demand the house, car - even the dogs - in exchange for his signature. But she happily gave it all up. She’d wanted a new start, anyway.
Looking at her partial reflection in the bus window, Alana realized she looked good for her age - even if she had gained a pound or two since last her aunt had seen her. Since last Mark had seen her.
Looking into the distance, over at the setting sun, she felt the town center and familiar, thick forests wait to greet her.
“Next stop, Amberville,” said the bus driver, hardly sparing a glance for the half-awake passengers.
Alana reached into the baggage cubby-hole above her seat, grabbed her bag, and plopped back into soft blue bus cushions. She was nervous about being back in the small town, like someone going to meet an old friend they hadn’t seen in a long time.
Mark Thompson looked around the nearly empty bar, head in hand. He laughed at himself, shaking his head, but stopped when he caught the bartender looking at him worriedly.
He was acting pathetic right now, and knew it. Weak. Vulnerable. It was just the sort of thing he hated seeing in others, especially men. Yet here he was, slouched over a poorly made cocktail in a shitty bar in the middle of nowhere.
Mark looked around at his sorry surroundings and smirked inwardly. A cocktail waitress attended to the one or two patrons actually sitting at the tables. Her cutoff jean shorts looked like they had seen better days. She did too, for that matter. A juke box with a twitching light bulb played a list of Elvis songs, and a snaggletooth patron at the other end of the bar sang along brokenly between long swigs of his cheap beer. Look at where you are, Mark. My, oh my, how the mighty have fallen.
Still, this was where it’d all started. He’d grown up here. His roots were here. His only surviving family, his grandfather, had died years ago, but there was still something that tied him to the place. And so, when his life had gone down the toilet, he’d come back almost reflexively - even after having not visited in a year. It was like going back to the beginning, to just the moment when the seeds of his ambition had been planted.
It’d started with those summers, years ago.
When Mark was smaller, before high school, his largest ambitions were to catch the legendary lagoon creature that was said to haunt the nearby lake (though it was, indeed, a lake and not a lagoon) and to stroll into Barry’s (the tavern/bar where he now sat) and play a song onstage.
Mark’s grandfather had been a kind but simple man, encouraging Mark to keep his grades up but not really pushing him for much else. Mark didn’t really remember his parents - they’d died in a skiing accident when he was seven. His grandfather never talked about it, and Mark never felt able to ask.
The most he’d ever heard his grandfather say about them was when he’d gotten into Harvard, deciding to leave over going to the local college. With sad but wistful eyes, his grandfather said: “There’s no helping it, my boy. You are just like your father.” Mark’s grandfather died on the third semester of college.
It had been a devastating, but not the reason he’d come back. For that, he realized he needed to go back further. Back to those summers with the sweet girl from down the road. Alana had been her name.
Mark remembered Alana as being gorgeous, fun to be around, and slightly goofy. He’d had a crush on her from the moment she had gone biking past his grandfather’s driveway in hot pants and a windbreaker on a cool spring morning late in May.
Every morning of that summer, he’d wait on the front porch for the girl on the bike. And every morning Alana went speeding by. After days of this, Mark finally got the courage to wave to her as she sped down the road.
Alana stopped, balanced the bike with one leg on the pavement, and smiled.
“I was wondering when you were gonna say ‘hi’,” she said. After that, they became fast friends.
Those summers with Alana had passed in a blur, never seeming to l
ast quite long enough. She was from the city, and only visited when school was out and her parents were looking to vacation. Mark had always wondered why they never took Alana with them, but was grateful they didn’t. There was something sophisticated about her, mature. This was despite her goofy, laughing, exterior. He often felt like a bumpkin in comparison, not as well educated, nuanced, or tactful. Maybe that’s what she’d liked about him. That would be pretty ironic, as he had worked hard to become more similar to her. Yes, in time his ambitions became his own, but the seed - the very start of it - had started with Alana. He realized with a shock that, had been what had attracted him to Tammy. It had been because of her similarities to Alana both physically and personality wise. But Tammy lacked the ease and glowing authenticity that Alana had had. Not to mention the integrity and straightforwardness.
Mark took one long last gulp, the ice in the drink freezing his upper lip a moment. Then he slammed the glass back down, nodding to the owner as he did so. The owner nodded back, warily. It was time to leave. But where? For a moment, he had the crazy thought of visiting Alana’s aunt down the road from his grandfather’s house, but decided against it. Mark reached into his pocket, placed a few bills on the counter, and sauntered out the door. It was time to go home.
Alana tossed her bag onto the ancient bus depot bench, plopping herself alongside it. She felt worn out. Tired. To her dismay, she’d found that the local rental car service closed early on weekends, and apparently there were no local cabs, either. Her aunt was off vacationing and had probably taken a ride from one of their neighbors. The old ford pickup might still be in her driveway, but it was an hour and a half trek from the bus station to her aunt’s house. Alana sighed. If she left now, she might have just enough time to make it there before nightfall. Assuming she remembered the way.
Leaving the bus depot and turning at the old corner store (which she was surprised to find intact and unchanged despite the years) she walked along the main thoroughfare. She knew well what a sleepy town it was, but each time she happened to walk these streets after six p.m. it reminded her of a ghost town.
A few miles along out of the main outcropping of buildings, a dirt road offshoot jutted to the left. Grateful for her good preparation, she took her flashlight out of her bag, turning it on. The forest was alive with the sounds of small creatures, but Alana had long ago been taught which noises were worth listening to. She remembered walking along the dirt path to the lake, following Mark’s every carefully placed step to avoid making noise.
‘’Shh,” Mark had said once, lifting a finger and pointing toward a ruffling noise in the undergrowth.
“Mark, what is it?” she’d asked in a rushed whisper. Mark, never taking his eyes off of the spot between two large pine trees responded.
“I think it’s a wolf,”
Brought back to the present by a noise in the woods, Alana froze. She could hear something in the distance. It sounded like a growl, or a rumble. When it got closer, two bright lights lit up the path from behind her. It was a car. She got to the side of the road, half hoping the car would stop - half not. Sure enough it pulled up next to her, the window rolling down slowly. It was, Alana noticed, an expensive looking car.
“Alana?” came a voice from inside.
Alana waited a moment for her eyes to adjust, but recognized the face after a few moments. Covered in a scraggly beard and a bit older, but still with the same essential, rugged, handsome features, sat Mark.
“Mark?! Oh my God, what are you doing here?”
It was at this moment that Alana realized that this man, an old dear friend and her first time, was looking at a disheveled, sweaty, and tired Alana.
”I’m fine. Are you walking back to your aunt’s house?” he asked, looking concerned.
“Well, technically I’m walking there in the first place. I just got into town a few hours ago. What about you?”
“Oh, um. I just wanted to come back for old time’s sake. You know, ever since Grandpa died, the old place is all I really have left of him.” It was technically true that that was part of the reason he’d come back. That, and because his life seemed to be falling apart.
“Why don’t you hop in? I’ll give you a ride to your aunt’s place.”
Alana looked down the dirt road, disappearing into darkness menacingly. As if to underscore her situation, a wolf howled in the background. It was an easy choice.
“Yeah. Sure, thanks.”
Mark smiled and unlocked the door.
They rode in silence for several minutes, each one made at once anxious and excited by the presence of the other, but both unable to break the ice. Mark finally cleared his throat and spoke.
“So. What’ve you been up to?” he said. Mark regretted that he felt unable to pick up where he and Alana had left off. More than anything, he wanted to reconnect with her again. But they were different people now, and he wasn’t sure if it was possible for them to at all.
“Oh. Nothing much,” Alana said, looking ahead on the road and trying to resist examining him intently. She was relieved that he was unaware of her divorce and wanted to enjoy his ignorance a little longer. For months, the subject had somehow wormed its way into nearly every conversation she’d had with her family and close friends back home. It was nice to have someone who treated her normally - even if it did currently feel like she was on an awkward first date.
Mark’s car pulled around a bend, passing his house. It was only another mile or so before Alana’s stop. He wanted to think of a reason he should come in, but couldn’t find one good enough. Feeling a little foolish at his juvenile scheming, he didn’t speak again until Alana did.
“I heard your grandfather passed,” she said, looking over at him.
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. He lived a good and long life. On top of that, I think…I think he was ready to join my grandmother.”
Alana had forgotten. When they’d first met, Mark had mentioned that his grandmother had died only a few months prior. They pulled up to the large wooden house. It was the picture of rustic perfection, complete with front porch, rocking chair, large square windows dotting the first and second floors, and a steepled roof.
“Well. Here we are,” said Mark, smiling.
“Here we are,” Alana said, giggling nervously. They sat a moment, not moving. Mark wondered if Alana was expecting something.
“Uhn…Would you like some help settling in? I know you always had trouble starting the fire,” he teased.
Alana laughed, but shook her head.
“No, I’m alright. Besides, I think she finally got central AC,” she said. She got out of the car but paused at the steps, turning around and making a motion for Mark to lower his window. He did, sticking his head out.
“Thanks Mark!”
“You’re welcome.”
He raised the driver side window, and pulled out, turning back around for the short journey home.
Chapter Two
Mark’s grandfather’s house really needed some work. When Mark was younger, his grandfather had been strict about house maintenance, often enlisting Mark to assist with painting or tending the small garden or fixing some pipes. As he’d gotten older, his grandfather had done less and less, until Mark finally went away to start his life, leaving his grandfather to do what he could as he got older. When Mark’s grandmother had died, the old man all but gave up tending to the house. This was around the time Alana started coming up for summers, so she remembered his grandfather only as a jovial layabout, enlisting them only to tell a story or occasionally tend to maintenance that was dire.
Opening the door and switching on the light, Mark was shocked to see that the place was much like the last time he’d seen it, his grandfather’s old windbreaker still hanging on the standing coat rack. Mark walked over to the fire place. When his grandfather was still alive and he visited during cold months, his favorite thing to do was light the fire. At twelve, his grandfather had let h
im do it himself for the very first time.
Mark smiled as he piled the logs into the fireplace. His thoughts drifted back to Alana. He shook his head. He had acted a bit like a teenager on a first date. The awkward silences and the goofy, presumptuous waiting to be invited in. All stock and trade of his early high school years. It was as if, as he entered the town, he’d sunk back down into that earlier self. More of the frog, less of the prince. What happened to GQ magazine’s Sexiest Man? He laughed at the thought. A year ago, at the height of his popularity and just before the decline of his marriage, Mark had been listed as the sexiest man alive, beating out some well-known movie stars who’d held the title for a while. He suspected that their head editor, a woman who’d he’d dated for a few months in college, either meant it as a joke or as a smug way of reminding him that he still thought he was too good for everyone. Either way, whenever he did something decidedly unappealing, Tammy would always say: “What happened to GQ’s sexiest man of the year?” It became a joke between them.
His thoughts again wandered over to Alana. He could almost feel her, even a mile down the road. After all, they hadn’t been this close in proximity for years. How had it been that they hadn’t at least sat and chatted a bit? Mark plopped down into his grandfathers’ old recliner. He had been a little concerned that he would find the place lonely, even creepy, with his grandfather gone. However, compared to how he felt surrounded by gossiping, judgmental family and friends he wasn’t always sure he trusted, he felt much more at home here. Tomorrow, he could check to see which familiar faces remained in town, maybe even convince Alana to come along. He liked his odds: there wasn’t much to do in the town. It was part of the reason they’d become friends in the first place.
He paced around the living area, thinking about their recent encounter. It surprised him, the way his thoughts insistently pointed toward her like a compass needle. He imagined her, sitting in his car, stunningly gorgeous even after having walked a mile in sweats and a t-shirt. He was impatient to see her again, and had to chastise himself when he continued to dote. You know better, Max. Whether you want to talk to her or fuck her, just admit how you feel to yourself and get on with it. You didn’t get where you are now by being indecisive. He’d given himself many such talks over the years, and it was no wonder. Within moments, he calmed down, grabbed a book from his luggage, and cracked open one of the bottles of wine he’d brought from his collection back home. By no means was it the best he owned, but it was definitely better than anything from the grocery store here. Midway through his glass of wine he fell asleep, Louis Carroll’s Through the Looking Glass open on his chest.
