Cavanagh - Serenity Series, Vol I (Seeking Serenity)

by Eden Butler

  “It just sounds like he has his reasons. Besides, I’ve seen the way he looks at you. You can’t fake that.”

  “Whatever. You are being a really bad friend.”

  “I am not. I’m just playing devil’s advocate here. There has to be a logical reason for his behavior.”

  “Yes. He is clearly off his meds.”

  Whatever else my best friend wanted to say was cut short by a sudden crowd of Early American Lit students who swarm our tables like ants on a dropped popsicle. In between the exchanging of cash and questions about Hawthorne, Sayo mentions having a girls night. Layla and Mollie have been bickering quite a bit lately, mainly over Layla’s new boyfriend, a cop named Walter. Mollie isn’t a fan, but I know that’s simply because there is quite a bit of the criminal element in her family. That family tree is littered with knots and decay. So Sayo is eager to get them to stop fighting. But she’s going to mention karaoke, I know she is. She’s been trying to get us to go back for three months, ever since that taboo night I drunkenly sang “All By Myself” in front of a group of Cameron rugby players. I will never forgive my friends for letting that one happen.

  “You know I hate karaoke,” I say when the inevitable topic surfaces.

  “It’s the pastime of my people.”

  “You’re adopted, friend. The pastime of ‘your people’ is Canasta and drinking too much wine.” That earns me the bird, but I ignore my best friend’s rudeness and take the money of a young girl with her hands full of the collected works of D.H. Lawrence.

  Sayo and I laugh at the wild blush on the girl’s face when I wink at her and the copy of “Lady Chatterly’s Lover” that she holds to her chest, but my humor is interrupted when Declan approaches, his attention on Sayo.

  “Do you want me to start packing up the books no one’s taken?” He acts as though I’m not even here. I try to pretend I’m busy digging for something in my bag.

  “Um, give it about ten minutes. I see some kids from the computer lab heading our way.”

  “Do you have anything by Beckett?” a voice says over my shoulder and I smile when Joe stands in front the table.

  “Hey. What are you doing here?” I ask.

  “Wanted to check up on my sweetheart, didn’t I? Sale alright then?”

  Sayo answers for me. “We’re making a killing.” She stands and sticks out her hand to my father. “You must be Joe. I’m Sayo, the only one besides Ava that tolerates your daughter’s moods.”

  “Well, aren’t you lovely?”

  “Yes,” I say. “She’s adorable, but don’t go complimenting her, Joe. She’s horribly vain already.”

  He kisses Sayo’s hand. “I don’t believe it.”

  There is an odd moment when Joe glances up and nods at Declan, and receives only a curt jerk of his chin in reply. “I’ll start packing up in a bit,” Declan says, before he walks off.

  “That was rude,” Sayo says.

  “Seems like he’s got a bee in his bonnet,” Joe says.

  “Nope, he’s just certifiable.” I stand, start packing up the table. “Can I help you find something?”

  “Nah, I just wanted to stop by and see if I could buy you an early dinner. Your lovely friend as well.”

  I was going to refuse, eager to get home and take a hot bath, but Sayo has other plans and by her too-wide smile and hopeful eyes, I know my soak will have to wait. “That would be fun,” she says, walking to Joe’s side to link her arm in his. “You could tell me all those embarrassing stories about Autumn as a kid. I’d love to have dirt on her. That way I can get her to do all sorts of unpleasant things that I know she wouldn’t normally agree to like be nice to total strangers or say yes to a date once in a while.”

  Joe laughs and pats her hand. “I believe I could manage that, love.”

  “Hey, you’re supposed to be buttering me up, not my evil friend here.” Joe only laughs at my protest.

  Sayo waves her hand, dismissing my mock upset. “Oh, hush, Autumn. If a good looking man wants to buy us dinner then we’d be fools to refuse.”

  I cross my arms, shake my head at her ignorant assertion. “It’s the good looking men that have given me the most grief in my life.”

  “Perhaps you should try ugly men, then.” Joe says this just as Declan walks past and I notice a faint smirk on his face.

  “So, Joe, was Autumn a terrible child? Please tell me she slept with the light on until she was ten or wet the bed when she watched a scary movie. Ms. Perfect here gives me a complex.”

  “Not a’tall. She was a well behaved child. Had my temper, mind, but otherwise ate all her green things and behaved just as her lovely mum asked her. I had no complaints whatsoever.”

  Sayo’s smile falls. “You’ve just dashed my hopes.”

  Joe pats her hand again and then he sits on the table, an idea seeming to come to him. “That reminds me, Autumn. What are your plans for your birthday?” Sayo laughs, making Joe throw her a frown. “Miss something funny, did I?”

  “Autumn doesn’t like celebrating her birthday. She has refused any suggestions I’ve made for parties since I’ve known her.”

  “What? Why on earth have you not—”then he stops, catches the way my eyebrow arches up and I know he must realize my reason for avoiding my birthday. He clears his throat, forces a wider smile on his face. “You loved those mad parties and such when you were little.”

  I don’t meet his eyes and just offer a twist of my shoulder. “I just don’t want to make a big deal of it.” We dance around the issue, avoid the past like it never happened. My neck heats up and I know Declan is behind me, watching, listening in on our awkward conversation.

  “Twenty-three is a year to celebrate, sweetheart,” Joe says as though leaving on my birthday all those years ago should remain in the past. He seems determined to ignore all the pain he’s caused me. “How can I convince you to allow us to throw you just a small party? I’m sure Sayo here would love to help me with the fixings and such.”

  “Oh, Joe, I wish you wouldn’t.” The words slip from my mouth in a small rush.

  Before I can explain, list a dozen reasons that aren’t remotely the truth, Joe is at my side, taking my hand in his. “It’s because I’ve been a dreadful father that I’m asking, love. I’ve not been with you on your birthday for eight years and it would warm my heart, it would, to spoil you some.” When I stare at our hands held together, on the lines beneath his thin skin, my father tips my chin up. “Humor an old man, would you, not?”

  Declan walks around the table, shoving books into boxes as Sayo’s smile wavers, up and down, as though she’s hopeful. I catch Declan’s gaze, his lowered mouth and know that he remembers our discussion in the basement, that first day we worked together. He takes a step forward, opens his mouth as though he will speak up for me, but I don’t want his help.

  Sighing, I smile at Joe. “Sure. As long as it’s small. Not a huge deal, okay?”

  Sayo squeals and Joe claps his hands together then the two of them start talking about plans, momentarily forgetting about me. Resigned, I pick up my bag, shuffle inside of it for a mint and Declan moves next to me. The smell again, woodsy, clean and I sidestep, hoping he won’t stand too near me.

  “You should tell them why you don’t want a party.”

  “It’s fine, Declan. If my father wants to plan a party with Sayo, then it will keep both of them out my hair for a while.”

  “Always the little martyr, aren’t you, McShane?”

  Finally, I glance at him, ignoring the brightness of his eyes, the way his stare is dark, concerned. “You’d know about that, wouldn’t you?”

  EIGHTEEN

  It rained all weekend. There were torrential onslaughts of cold, cold water pounding around Cavanagh Saturday night and the whole of Sunday. The lightning storm postponed the match and the weather cut short my dinner with Sayo and Joe.

  It also made training yesterday impossible. There was too much mud, too many loose limbs and fallen trees for us to manage
up the falls or even work on Mullens’ amateur course. Even the lake was flooded. With the storm came shifty power spikes which meant the campus gym also wasn’t a viable option. We had no choice. It was the pitch or going three days straight without working out. Of course, our Tuesday run around the rugby pitch would fall on practice day. Clearly, the gods hate me. I complained loudly to my friends, bitched the entire walk away from my apartment, but they would not hear it.

  When I notice the squad spanning for sprints and I catch a quick flash of Declan’s bright green eyes, I whine again, my grunting complaint irking Layla.

  “Suck it up, sunshine. It’s just a run,” she says, but her tone is curt and there is no humor in her voice. She moves ahead of us, leaving Mollie to lag behind.

  “They still fighting?” I ask Sayo as we run into a curve on the north side of the pitch.

  “Walter asked Mollie about her family Sunday night. They were holed out at Layla’s during the storm so there was a lot of random conversation.” Mollie scoots past us, looking as though she wants to catch up to Layla. “When she told him about her father, he gets all pissy, flares his nose at her and says ‘serves him right.’” I wince at Sayo’s explanation. Mollie has struggled with her family’s past her whole life. She’s come to terms with it, but she doesn’t need some stranger judging her.

  “What did Layla do?”

  We separate to avoid a large puddle on the track. “Nothing. She fussed at him a little, but didn’t really stick up for Mollie. It pissed her off and she left.”

  “During the storm?”

  “Yep.”

  Ahead of me, I see our friends running side by side. Layla says something to Mollie, makes a ridiculous face that has her friend laughing. “They’ll get past it.”

  “I hope so,” Sayo says. She exhales, sets her shoulders. “Enough blabbing. We’ve got to get serious. Two weeks left.”

  I nod and we both take off, passing Mollie and Layla quickly. They exchange a glance and then we are racing. I leave my friends behind, pumping my cramp-free legs, pressing into the momentum until I am yards and yards ahead of them. I laugh once when I hear Layla call me a name she’d never repeat in front of her mother, but don’t turn around. I am focused, so focused that I don’t initially notice how I’ve drawn up near the practicing rugby squad, and how Declan’s eyes are on me as he completes his sprints.

  We both slow, working our bodies in languid movements, eyes clear and connected until Mullens’ whistle breaks through my panting and Declan returns to his squad. A glance behind me tells me that my friends are struggling to keep up and so I turn, jog in place to wait for them.

  I should have kept moving.

  I hear a whistle, this one organic and clearly flirty and see Tucker shoot me a wink. My chin jerks in acknowledgement. He can’t seem to help himself, he’s a natural flirt, and I find it funny how easy it comes to him. But my vision returns to Declan and all humor on my face disappears. I want to say something to him, want to tell him he’s being ridiculous, but his attention is drawn to the squad and his coach, to his captain that has taken over their drills. I stop jogging and quickly realize that Tucker is not a good captain. He yells at everyone, including the scared freshmen. Surprisingly, Declan doesn’t react to Tucker’s passive aggressive comments. Instead, he rallies the others and encourages them to press on.

  “Come on, lads. Let’s get this right this time,” I hear him yell as the squad forms.

  He was born to play. I watch him create confusion in the defense, sidestep against the disorganized defenders until he runs for a try and there is complete and utter joy on his face. It reminds me of the feeling I get when a struggling student shocks herself with an A performance on an exam or that moment in a race when you know you are in the lead, when you pump your arms and the endorphins collide in your brain, your heart hammers hard and then the ecstatic thrill when your chest breaks the tape. Joy. Complete and utter joy in the practice of what one loves; a clarity of knowledge that this is happiness, this thing, right here what I’m doing, completes me, makes me feel alive and important and with a purpose that radiates through the heart of the performance, or whatever it is you are passionate about.

  Declan wears that expression as he runs up the pitch, as he catches the ball to his side, as he touches the ball on the ground between the uprights. He’s amazing at this and where he exudes this sense of astonishing joy, Tucker does not. The contrast between them is striking. Tucker gets the ball and runs, but he squints up into the bleachers to make sure everyone is watching, or to where Mullens stands, seeking approval. When Declan has the ball, he is focused, confident, as though he completely believes that no one can touch him, that it is only him on that pitch, only him and the ball in his hands. It’s fascinating to witness.

  To my right, I notice my friends have completely exhausted themselves. Layla is laying on the ground, Mollie is hovering over her and Sayo forgets training altogether to slide her thumb over her cell. Slackers, the lot of them. The practice game ends and Declan’s smile is wide and warm. I watch him pat each of his squad mates on the back, congratulate them on a job well done, but Tucker continues to yell, setting them to running sprints again. He nods his head, but I don’t smile back, feeling my disappointment in him grow.

  Declan sprints and his concentration is amazing. He runs and maneuvers his body like a man possessed. He is serious, focused, driven as though these exercises are as essential to his performance as how fast he runs down the pitch or how quickly he avoids a tackle. I’m impressed. I really wish I wasn’t.

  Tucker walks around the pitch with his arms crossed, closely examining the team as they run through their exercises. He glances at me again and I manage a small smile.

  Layla has recovered and is at least sitting up, her chest heaving and I take a few steps toward them, eager to continue our run, but then I hear someone behind me and stop as Heather approaches.

  “You know, that Tucker Morrison is gorgeous,” she says, digging her hands in the pockets of her jacket. I nod, dismissive, remembering her little grope fest with my ex on Halloween. Oh, she knows all about Tucker’s attributes.

  “I’m Heather, by the way.”

  “Hi.” She knows I’m aware of who she is.

  “You’re Autumn, aren’t you? I’ve heard about you.”

  “Have you?”

  “Yes. Declan says you’re friends.”

  “Is that what Declan says?”

  Her smile holds no humor. It’s a sneer, a wide pull that makes her perfect teeth gleam. “I’ll be honest,” she says, tucking her blonde hair behind her ear. “I know that you two may be a bit more than friends, but can I give you a little advice?”

  “If I say no you’ll do it anyway so go ahead.”

  When she giggles, the sound is condescending, forced. “Stay away from Declan.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Her hot pink nails glint in the sun and I move my head back to avoid the reflection. “Guys are not complicated creatures. They require very little to make them happy. Sex, food, alcohol, sleep.”

  I fold my arms, straighten my legs so that I tower over her. “You don’t seem to think highly of men. Funny, you’d think if that were true you wouldn’t spend all your time trying to land one.”

  “Say what you want, I don’t care.” She isn’t intimidated by me in the least. Even the stretch of her neck, the way she lifts her chin, tells me I could say anything to her, threaten her as much as I like and she’d not even blink once. “I just think you should know that Declan is a simple creature and I enjoy making sure all those needs of his are met.” She grabs my arm, a saccharine sweet smile on her face. “All of those needs, Autumn. What I give him, you couldn’t possibly. And then there’s the university’s rule about faculty and student relationships.”

  I jerk my arm away from her. “I’m not faculty, Heather. I’m a grad student.”

  “True, but you won’t be next year, will you? I hear you want a faculty position and I know y
ou and the president are close. But my dad is on the board of trustees and he has a lot of pull with the governor. It would be too bad if word gets out that Winchell’s favorite grad student is hooked up with a sophomore. That might cause issue with the board. They might shift some of the English department’s funding to other departments which would mean that solitary vacancy you’ve got your heart set on might not be there next semester.”

  She can’t be serious. “Wow, Heather. You’re actually threatening me. If I were at all stupid, I might be worried.”

  “Oh, I know how smart you are. I’m very well aware, but just remember, Winchell doesn’t have the final say and she isn’t the most powerful woman on campus.”

  I laugh. “And you are?”

  “I didn’t say that, but I will say that you’d be risking a lot because of your relationship with Declan. I’d be blind not to see the looks you give each other. And, Autumn, I’m not stupid either. I can give him whatever he wants and no one would have a problem with it.”

  “You love him? Is that where all of this is coming from?”

  “Love him? God, no. But he’s good for me right now and I don’t like sharing what’s mine. So I’m saying this as nicely as I can. Stay away from Declan.”

  My friends finally catch up as Heather walks away.

  “What was that about?” Sayo says, but my eyes are focused on the scrawny tart.

  I watch her as she saunters across the pitch, stopping for a second to wink at Declan. I’ve never been threatened before. I find it weird and disconcerting. Nodding for my friends to follow me, my eyes return to the squad. They run the length of the pitch, but Declan’s attention is on Heather walking away and his expression is curious, flirting near grim. Then he passes me in his run and I know that he is now watching me, that he has forgotten Heather. My friends and I pick up speed, run from the pitch and I wonder, fleetingly, how I got myself in this mess.

  Tucker is late. He called me yesterday, asked if I’d decided on his mother’s birthday dinner. I’d been with my friends, fresh from another exhausting training session, sucking down lemon water, thin slices of asparagus and grilled fish when I got his text.