Heart Stronger

by Rachel Blaufeld

  It’d do.

  Tossing on a pair of mesh shorts, forgoing a shirt, I laced my running shoes and ran out the front door. Not ready or wanting to run into Claire, I headed the opposite way of her house. It was muggy, the clouds heavy with rain, waiting to burst, so I pushed my speed, hoping to outrun the impending doom.

  Small Town, Pennsylvania—aka Centre, PA—wasn’t much different than the little town where I grew up. Cows and horses littered the fields as I ran past campus and toward the local farm areas. My momma had been from here, went to college right here in this very town, later met my dad on a Bible study weekend in Cleveland. They’d married quickly, started a family, meaning me, and then she’d gone home to visit her supposedly ailing mother. She left me with the neighbor with a billion written instructions—no one ever considered she wouldn’t come back.

  But she didn’t. I guessed that was why there were so many instructions, after all.

  Over the years, my heart numbed to thinking about it, though it plagued my thoughts for a very long time. Now, it was nothing but a mystery I wanted to solve and move on.

  So I told myself.

  Just as I dipped under a covered bridge, the rain came, big droplets pinging on the roof, pummeling me when I made my way out.

  “Oh fucking hell,” I grumbled to myself, turning around and heading back toward town.

  The downpour stopped just as I did, soaked in rain and sweat. Rolling my neck, I took in my house. It was cute. Too cute for a single dude, but it was all fixed up, and I wasn’t in the mood for a renovation project.

  I bent over to stretch, touching my toes, and before I could stand up, Smitty was at my feet, tail wagging, tongue lolling, begging to be petted.

  “Smitty!” Claire came running out her front door, dark hair tied up in a messy bun, wearing tight black pants and a fitted green blouse. No shoes. She stopped in front of me, and I noticed her pink toes and tanned feet.

  “Smitty, bad boy! You can’t leave the house.” She grabbed his collar and tugged him to her side.

  “S’okay.” Wetness seeped into my eyes, and I swatted it away, making the burn worse. Squinting and blinking, I remained focused on the woman in front of me, and all woman she was. There wasn’t one girlish thing about my neighbor, and no—before you think it—I didn’t have mommy issues.

  I had lean-muscular-legs and pouty-lips issues, both of which Claire had in earnest. Not to mention, I had a separate thing for independence after growing up around all these farming wives, who basically did all the heavy lifting for none of the credit. Then there was my dad, unable to move on, the epitome of lost.

  “Don’t say that. He can’t be running out of the house.” Her breath was short at this point; she was almost panting. “He’s all I have.” It was a whisper of a sentence, but I heard it. Fuck it, I felt it. I got pain. Hated anyone else having to experience it.

  She was eaten up with pain, but kept her head up—I could tell. I wanted to crack her veneers, let the pain ooze out, and see her smile in earnest.

  Deep shit for a young guy, but I’d grown up fast. Like in the last forty-eight hours.

  “I put my hand out to feel if it was still raining, and he bolted as soon as he saw you,” she continued to explain.

  “Like I said, I’m cool with Smitty, but I get it. He can’t be escaping.”

  “Thanks for understanding.” She stood, prim and proper, her gaze heavy on the concrete, clearly avoiding any direct eye contact.

  “You okay, Claire? I’m sorry about last night.”

  “I’m fine.” She turned back toward her house.

  “Claire, listen, we got off to a bad start. Can we start over? Aiken Fordham, nice to meet you.” I held my hand out, flexing my bicep, waiting for her to return the favor.

  “Claire Richards.” She took my hand, her smaller, dainty, and way smoother hand slipping into mine.

  “Ugh. What do you want, Aiken? Look at you, shirtless, dripping from running in the rain.” Her hand whipped out of mine and began whisking up and down in the air, motioning at my very naked torso. “What could you possibly want from me? If you need an egg or a stick of butter, pop next door. Otherwise, let me be. I need to get out of here and beg Mary to give me a class full of students, probably not much older than you.” She alternated between eyeing me and her disobedient dog.

  “You’re a beautiful woman, Claire,” I called, running up behind her. “And I’m a warm-blooded man, who’ll probably never have a need for a stick of butter. I’m a big boy. I know how to find a grocery store. All by myself too.”

  She flung open her door and motioned Smitty inside. He stood at the screen door, staring us down with sad doggie eyes.

  “Is there something wrong with getting to know my neighbor? I don’t know anyone here. Maybe you could be neighborly? Or are you so closed off you can’t do that? Because if so, that’s a damn shame,” I said through gritted teeth. Admittedly, I was more frustrated than I should have been. I was a man who desperately wanted the broken woman in front of me.

  Before I could blink, she had a finger directed at my wet face. Her index finger, pointing right at my nose. She was mad. Rightfully so—I’d been hurtful in my words, assertive in my attitude when I shouldn’t have been.

  “I was neighborly. I said hello. Even shared a smoke with you. Now I have nothing left to share. That’s me. All of me.”

  She was inside her house, the heavy door slamming in my face before I could respond.

  “You’re wrong,” I whispered to nobody and slithered away, rubbing my temple in confusion. I didn’t need the challenge of breaking through to this woman, yet it was slowly crawling to the top of my to-do list.

  And she was wrong. I could tell Claire had sass and smarts in equal measure, beyond sensual skin and curves. I was going to dig that shit out.

  Watch me.

  Aiken

  Four long days had just about passed without a single glimpse of Claire. I hadn’t heard Smitty barking or caught a glimpse of her, with her black-as-night ponytail, running down the street. It wasn’t like I didn’t try either. I’d been running myself, early morning and late afternoon, and in between working at my desk in front of the window and heading out to investigate the real reason I was in East Kabumfuck—I certainly looked.

  Now it was Friday night, and I decided not to sit in my house like a loner, pining for a conversation with a woman I didn’t even know or barely could pretend to understand. Likely, I was here for the long haul, so I needed to get out and explore Centre County, Pennsylvania, and all that it held for me.

  Other than why I came and the mysterious woman next door, whom I was quickly becoming obsessed with—

  Opening up Yelp on my laptop, I looked for recommended bars and hangouts, finding two places—Clive’s and Juicey’s.

  Clive’s was apparently a shithole catering to locals, and Juicey’s had live music on Fridays. I went with the latter for the music alone. I didn’t care whether a place was a shithole. Seated at the bar later, I quickly realized what a mistake I’d made. Yes, the crowd was certainly closer to my age, but the desperate odor the women gave off wasn’t for me.

  I was a man in a temple full of babies wanting to be sacrificed.

  “Hiiii.” A scantily clad redhead fell into my side. “I’m Sheena, and it’s my birthhhday,” she slurred in my face.

  “Happy birthday,” was all I gave her.

  “Your arms are so huge, you must lift.” Her bright red nails scratched at the sleeve of my shirt, allowing her to get a better look at my arm.

  “Hard labor, no lifting. Sorry to disappoint.”

  I’d never been so grateful for my commuter education. Somehow, I’d avoided this entire scene.

  “Oooh, hard labor. What’s that?” She looked up at me, doe-eyed, yet trying to appear sexual. I had to contain a laugh.

  “Farm life, that’s what.”

  She sucked her drink dry, the small cocktail straw straining as it was.

  “Wanna do a
shot?”

  “Got my beer, I’m all good.” Turning my attention to the TV, I tried to focus on the baseball game.

  “Wanna buy me another drink?”

  Sheena failed to get it. I wasn’t interested. I hadn’t even given her my name—not that she seemed to care. I thought back to Claire not wanting to share her name with me.

  I cared.

  I didn’t know why, but I did.

  “Sheena, I’m not your type. Not even a student.” I tried to wave her off. “I’m sure there’re better guys than me here. Why don’t you run along?”

  Her pout did nothing for me, and I had an affinity for pouts.

  “What do you do?” Her fingers came back to my arm.

  I gently removed her hand from my skin and stood, tossed some money on the bar, and said, “I gotta roll. Have a good night, Sheena.”

  Outside Juicey’s, I took stock of the area. Downtown of a college town, the Golden Arches the only familiar icon. Rows of local bars and coffee shops lined the sidewalks. Students zigged and zagged in and out of traffic and on and off sidewalks.

  Get me outta here, I thought.

  Fast.

  Back home again, I settled on the back deck, a beer in one hand and a fresh cigar in the other, laptop balanced on my knees. The street was quiet as always, one of the few residential streets in a college town. For the moment, crickets were my only company. Don’t get me wrong, I was grateful for the house. It might not have been my style or suit my bachelor credibility, but I liked it.

  I bent my head back to look at the dark sky, puffing on my stogie and taking in the stars. They weren’t quite as clear as they were at home, but they’d do.

  I wasn’t here permanently. Eventually, I’d go back home. I didn’t know if settling down was in the cards for me, especially after what my pops had gone through. I liked to think it was…reality settled. I was a thirty-year-old guy who liked staying in, staring at the sky, thinking ’bout my hot-as-shit neighbor more than going out for an easy lay. Perhaps that was a sign I was ready to settle, or some shit like that.

  Yep, thirty had hit hard. Although I didn’t look my age, as I’m sure Sheena would attest.

  Like a fool, I googled my neighbor’s name.

  Claire Richards, professor.

  I found her work department. Psychology. Blah, blah. An old picture. Her list of degrees and qualifications. The sold listing for her house. Her ex sold it to her for one dollar over a decade ago.

  Then I typed: Claire Richards’ Daughter, Centre County, Pennsylvania.

  This resulted in an onslaught of results.

  Abby Richards, victim of a local explosion, motive still unknown.

  A weathered school photo of her—dark hair like her mom and blue eyes from her dad?

  Claire was quoted as saying, “Sad this type of mass destruction has found its way to our small town. Even worse, we can’t seem to find who was at the helm of it. We want answers. We need answers. The families of the victims deserve this from law enforcement. Now we are being forced to move forward with nothing.”

  Another picture of Claire: red-eyed, tired, rumpled.

  According to the paper, the police had captured a young duo exiting the small university arena, which only seated slightly over three thousand people, making their apprehension easy. It also allowed for many of the attendees to quickly exit the building.

  Thank God.

  Sadly, the pair in custody hadn’t been the masterminds, only responsible for setting the explosion in motion. They both refused to sing like canaries, slipping a suicide pill (provided to them) into their mouths when the investigators looked the other way. All they’d given up was they were poor college students who’d been promised a sizable money transfer for doing the Lord’s work. They didn’t care whose work it was. They wanted the money. Which never landed in their accounts. There were no other clues at the scene. Not a single other suspicious person. Nothing. It was as dry as the Sahara…

  I slammed the laptop closed, looked around, feeling guilty.

  “Shit,” I muttered. I should’ve stayed with Sheena. Maybe she would have dulled the need to fix my neighbor?

  For sure, I shouldn’t be googling anything involving Claire’s daughter’s death. I should wait for her to tell me herself. Hold her hand, let her cry on my shoulder, beat on my chest—like I’d wished someone did for me when my mom never came back. I could really be there for her.

  I should hear her daughter from her, not the Internet.

  I’d seen what loss had done to my dad. The hearsay killed his spirit. My mom’s disappearance ate at his soul. Old newspaper articles didn’t do it justice. That’s why I was here, looking for my mom, trying to squeeze out some answers, allowing my dad to breathe easy again.

  After a few more puffs of my stogie, I began to hear barking. Looking across the way, I saw two round eyes and a pair of paws propped up in the window. A faint light flickered from behind Smitty as he cocked his head against the drapery.

  Dude looked sad and lonely. Probably just had to take a leak.

  A bad idea cropped up in my head as I thought back to the other night.

  Had I heard Mary mention a hide-a-key the other night through my screen door? Taking my cigar, I lumbered my way next door, my flip-flops clicking against the concrete the only noise as Smitty eyed me making my way. “I’m coming.”

  Picking up a plant, I felt around underneath, finding only a pack of smokes. Setting it down, I noticed one odd-looking stone, larger than the others, in the bottom of the planter. A fake one with a key inside. Bingo—not stopping to consider how nuts this was, or that I wasn’t back home, I grabbed the key.

  Just as I was about to put the damn thing in the door, common sense prevailed.

  What about an alarm?

  Better yet, what the hell was it about this woman?

  I’d barely spoken to her, we’d had a few random meet-ups, and now I was at her house, breaking and entering.

  It was her. I liked her, physically, but could tell there was more than the surface…and then I heard her.

  “I’m walking down my driveway, Laur. Don’t worry, I’m going to be okay,” she said through sniffling. She rounded the back porch before I could make a break for it, and unfortunately, she screamed into the phone.

  “Shit! Shit, shit, shit. No, no, I’m fine. Just my nosy neighbor stalking me.”

  “I was…I heard Smitty…” I lost my thought as I saw Claire and her raccoon eyes. She had rings of eye makeup under her puffy eyes, her nose bright red and her cheeks still wet.

  “Listen, Laurie, I’ll talk to you tomorrow. I’m fine. It was a hard night, but really, it’s okay. Thanks for going with me.”

  She disconnected the call and eyed me up, snatching the rock and the key from my hand. “What are you, breaking and entering now? First, my missing lightbulb, now what? You wanted to sniff my panties or something like that?”

  I admired her ability to make a joke when she was obviously in a tremendous amount of pain, but I suspected it was more of a defense mechanism than anything else.

  “You caught me!” I held my hands in the air.

  “It’s not funny. I don’t get what you want with me. Shit, I keep saying that. Every time I see you. So, what is it? What do you want?”

  I took in her jeans, a hole in one knee, and her black T-shirt. Probably a C cup and with beautiful rounded hips, Claire was most certainly a looker. I sounded like my dad for a quick second.

  Her jeans clung to every curve. With her silky hair tied up in a messy knot and her makeup practically cried off, her cheeks ruddy, she looked closer to thirty, but I knew she was older than that.

  “I’m waiting.” She went to stick the spare key in the door.

  “Honestly, Smitty was staring at me from the window. He wanted to hang,” I said like an idiot. It wasn’t time for jokes.

  “Sure, he was. Let’s ask him,” she flung back, opening the door so he could come barreling out.

  I made n
ote that she didn’t turn off an alarm.

  Smitty bolted, immediately sniffing my toes, then rubbing his head against Claire’s leg.

  Lucky dog.

  “You all right?”

  “Yep. As good as ever.” Claire refused to look at me.

  “Wanna talk about it?”

  “Not really.”

  Smitty ran down the steps and lifted his leg on a bush and was back before I could think of what else to say.

  “You sure? I don’t have anything better to do.”

  “Let it go, Aiken. It’s been a long day, a bad day. Tomorrow’ll be better. Please…I’m sorry I’m so prickly. It’s been a rough one.” Her words ran together, eyes downcast, her brow wrinkled. I’d never wanted a woman more.

  Problem was, I also wanted to comfort her, console her.

  “Come on.” I gently gripped her elbow, opened the door, and guided her inside, Smitty on our heels. “I can’t let you go inside alone like this.”

  “Such a gentleman. I’m fine, used to it, and you’re…I don’t even know what.”

  “Neighbor. Potential friend. More?”

  “I’m not in the mood for silly jokes, funny boy.”

  Wanting to say, You started it, I decided against it.

  She plopped onto a high-back barstool. The back door led directly into the kitchen. It was an old-fashioned one: white Formica countertops, black and white diamond floor tiles, red backsplash. It reminded me of a diner, especially the red leatherette underneath Claire’s ass.

  Claire’s ass, which was doing an excellent job of drawing my attention, but so was her broken heart.

  “Claire.” I leaned my hip into the corner of the island. She stared up at me, big brown eyes wet and glossy. “What?” Her voice was a defeated whisper.

  “How ’bout some water? Coffee? Tea?”

  She shook her head, but I prowled over to the cabinets and found a glass, filling it at the tap and setting it in front of her. Hip back against the counter, I said, “My mom…she was from around here…anyway, she walked out when I was four. Said she was visiting her grandma and never came back. My dad’s not been right since she vanished. As far back as I can remember, he’s been fucked up. I was so little when she left, I’ve never known him any other way. But I have to think at one point he was fun, loving. Mostly, he was lonely, sad, and distant when I was growing up. I know what loss looks like. What I’m saying…I know pain. I can be there for you.”