Waterfall Effect

by K. K. Allen

  Claire’s hand lands on mine, squeezing it tight. I can’t believe I’ve just divulged the details of my father’s mental disorder to a total stranger. But as the firm hold on my hand spreads calm through me—mind, body, and soul—I know I can trust her.

  “And what about your fiancé? Jaxon said you were with someone.”

  I groan and then laugh, shaking my head. “I should have never said that to Tanner, but he was treating me like the townspeople would gas my house as soon as they found out I was back alone.”

  “What do you mean? So you don’t have a fiancé?”

  I shake my head and cringe. “No, I don’t.”

  My response satisfies Claire. Her eyes shine as she runs a finger around the rim of her coffee lid. “Well, that’s settled. What are you going to do now that you’re here? You’ll be bored out of your mind without a job.”

  Her eyes flick to mine and I realize there’s more to the reason she stopped by my house.

  “You can only hike the trail and swim under the waterfalls so much before you start to get restless around here,” she continues with a smile.

  I laugh. “I haven’t thought too much about how to keep my calendar full, but you’re probably right.”

  “Come work with me at the café,” she suggests. “I only have one other girl, and she’s taking summer classes, so I’m drowning with all these hours.” Claire rubs her rounded belly. “And this little girl will be coming in less than eight weeks. I could use a backup for when that time comes. If you’re still here, that is.”

  She holds up her hands. “No pressure, honestly. Hiring has been on my list of to-dos, but I haven’t listed the job yet. If you’re interested, you can start as soon as you want.”

  Claire just might be even crazier than I thought. “I have no experience at all.”

  “That’s okay! I’ll train you. You’ll be a pro in no time.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really! Are you considering it? I should warn you, the pay is dismal.”

  A job wasn’t even on my mind when I left Durham, but Claire’s right. I might drive myself insane trying to fill my days hanging around the cottage or hiking the woods. I am here to try new things. To find myself—whatever that means.

  I shrug. “Already considered. I accept.” I beam.

  She squeals and throws her arms around me. “This is great! I can’t believe how perfect this is. You can start next week after I put a new schedule together, and I have a new shipment coming in so I can teach you how I manage all of that.” She claps her hands as she stands to leave. “I’m a fun boss. Promise. And the tourists will love you,” she winks. “You’re a lifesaver, Aurora.”

  I take a sip of my coffee and sigh, leaning back as she grins at me from above. “If you can teach me how to make coffee like this, you just might be the lifesaver.”

  I’m feeling restless within these cottage walls, just as Claire predicted.

  By eight a.m., I’d already downed an entire bottle of water. By nine a.m., I’d confirmed the hole under the back porch does, in fact, exist. And by ten a.m., I had showered, dressed, and started pacing the living room floor with no clue what to do next.

  I curl up at the edge of the couch, scrolling through messages from Aunt Cyndi and Scott. I’m replying to Aunt Cyndi’s text when my phone starts ringing and Scott’s name flashes across the screen, and I groan. I’ve been avoiding him for too long.

  Tapping Answer, I place my phone to my ear and squeeze my lids together before pulling in a breath. “Hey, Scott.”

  As soon as the words escape, I bite my lip and shake my head. I know I sound regretful, but the only thing I regret is being too weak to have this conversation in person.

  There’s a quick huff of air on the other end of the line. “Jesus, Aurora. I’ve been worried. Are you okay? Where are you?”

  Silence is all I give him as my mind splits off in a million different directions. If he learns where I am, he’ll come after me. He won’t understand. He’ll be hurt. And he’ll try to convince me to leave. I need to do this on my own.

  “Aurora.” His voice is soft, pleading, making it that much harder to respond. My insides furl with guilt. “Whatever is going on, whatever I did, just come home and let’s talk about it.”

  I inhale through my nose and exhale from my mouth, slowly, like I was taught to do when the pressure around me becomes too much. When the world becomes dark. When the cries within me scream too loud and anxiety swallows me alive.

  Scott doesn’t understand. I have no home, or at least not a place that feels like home. But he doesn’t deserve to feel like this is his fault.

  “You didn’t do anything, Scott. You’re wonderful. You’ve always been wonderful. I can’t explain it exactly. Just trust me when I say I’m okay, and…I can’t come back.”

  I hear a heavy sigh on the other end of the line, and I don’t need to be there to know that Scott is pacing our small house—well, his house.

  Two years ago, the thought of rooming with my best friend sounded exciting. But I had no idea that moving in would lead to an avalanche of expectations and guilt.

  After spending the first two years following my father’s arrest obsessing over the three days of memories I had lost, I realized how much time I had wasted on something I couldn’t control. I had to move on. So, I buried myself in my studies and completed my undergraduate degree in philosophy from Duke in just three years. That same year, Scott received his degree in finance and was offered a great job as an accountant in Raleigh. He purchased a beautiful, cozy, two-bedroom house with a two-car garage and invited me to move into the guest bedroom to help cut down on living expenses.

  Scott respected my privacy, and while I always knew he had a thing for me, I ignored it until I couldn’t anymore. Gradually, our roomie situation turned into a dating situation, and although I’d allowed for things to develop before I was ready, I felt as if I owed him a chance.

  From that point on, it was like I’d boarded a train with no end in sight.

  Four weeks ago, Scott attempted to take our relationship to the next level. We’d only ever kissed up to that point. But with flowers, jazz music, dim lights, candles, the works, I knew the expectation was that there would be more. The second his hand touched my breast, I had a full-blown panic attack, each dizzy, staccato breath bringing me closer to a blackout.

  My father passed away the next day.

  “You’re upset because of your father,” Scott tries, reasonable as always. “I knew this would be hard for you. I get it. If it’s time and space you need, I can give that to you. I can find a place to stay while you sort things out for a few days—or weeks. Just don’t leave.”

  His voice cracks, and that’s when I feel the stinging behind my eyes. “Scott—”

  “I love you, Aurora. I know we haven’t said those words, not in that way, but you need to know. You can’t just walk away and tell me it’s over. It can’t be over. It just started.”

  I can feel my chest tighten and my face crumble at his confession. Even though I could have guessed, the words are too much to bear. Scott is the type of man women dream about. He’s determined, trustworthy, financially secure, smart, and confident. His admirable traits were hammered into my mind by Aunt Cyndi until even I believed he was perfect. And maybe he is. But then, why do I still feel this incorrigible need to chase my past, no matter what darkness still lies there? And why can’t I explore my past while feeling confident enough to move forward with my future?

  After years of trying to do just that—move forward—I’ve realized that maybe I need to start listening to my own wants and needs. And that’s why I came back.

  When I made the decision to end our relationship, I knew Scott wouldn’t understand. Everyone expects me to fit into the picture he’s created in his mind—childhood friends destined to be together. He makes it all sound so simple.

  “You’re a wonderful person, Scott. You’ve been my bes
t friend all these years, and you know I love you too. Me leaving doesn’t change any of that, but I’m just—I’m not the one for you, and this isn’t something that will fix itself.”

  “So let’s fix it,” he pleads. “Together.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m suffocating.” My whisper comes quickly, and I cringe when I realize it was loud enough for Scott to hear. He doesn’t deserve that. I clamp a hand over my mouth. I’m such an idiot.

  I shake my head, immediately wishing I could take back my words. Scott and I have never argued. He’s always gone above and beyond for me to make up for all that I lost. And I’ve gone with the flow, loved him for who he is, been the doting girlfriend he needed me to be. But it kills me to think about staying.

  “I’ve loved you my entire life.” His voice cracks, worn with emotion. “I waited for you. After everything. I thought you felt the same.”

  I want to sink into a hole. We may have only made our relationship official two months ago, but that doesn’t matter. To Scott, we’ve been together for a lifetime.

  “I’m sorry, Scott. I need to go.”

  “Just tell me you’re okay,” he jumps in before I can hang up. “If I call, will you answer? Because I need to know that you’re okay and not dead in a ditch somewhere.”

  All goes silent, and the air catches in my throat. “What did you just say?”

  “Oh, God. Jesus, no, Aurora. I didn’t mean that. I just—fuck. I’m an idiot. I’m sorry.” He stumbles, but it’s too late for a recovery. “Will you call? Text? Can you promise to at least check in with me from time to time? Just so I know you’re okay? Wherever you are. Maybe I can visit…”

  The bubbling anger in my chest reduces to a simmer as I slowly forgive him for his slip. Scott isn’t a mean person. He wants what’s best for me, but almost in the way that a parent tries to control their child. Scott has always tried to mold me the way he wants others to see me. I realize it now—or I may have always realized it, but now, I know I’m done.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m sorry, Scott. My letter tells you everything you need to know.”

  “Your letter tells me you’re leaving to find yourself. Why do you need to leave to do that? You can do that here. You can go back to school, get a different job. I’ll help you. Running away never solves anything. You should know that.”

  Again, it’s like he’s slapped me. Is it possible to know someone practically your entire life and never see the ugly in them until their future is threatened? I suppose.

  Scott’s a planner. He knew he wanted to work with numbers by the time he was eight. He planned to intern for his dream company, date a girl in college, get engaged after graduation, and then marry, have babies, and live happily ever after. Not a bad plan, and with us being childhood friends, I guess I fell into that plan seamlessly.

  He almost got everything he wanted.

  I’ve just ended our relationship. Our friendship. Our plans. He has every right to be upset, but for the first time in a long time, I’m doing something for me and not because someone else told me to.

  I wipe a tear from my eye with the back of my hand. “Can you give me some time? I’ll call you, okay? Just know for now I’m fine.”

  “Wait.”

  “I need to go. Goodbye, Scott.”

  “Auror—”

  With a deep breath, I end the call and silence my phone.

  A heavy tear falls onto my cheek. As confident as I am in my decision to be here, there’s no possible way to make this situation better. While I should have been honest with Scott before I left, I know he would have hounded me to make things right. He would have tried to fix it, and I would have eventually relented. Nothing would have changed.

  I couldn’t let that happen.

  Going back to Durham would mean being confined to a life I never chose. I’d end up marrying a man who says he loves me with all his heart and soul, but I don’t know why. His reasons for loving me are that I’m smart, attractive, and funny, but doesn’t love flow deeper than that? Shouldn’t he love me for all the reasons why?

  Maybe Scott’s right to an extent. Maybe I’m solving nothing by leaving Durham—by running away—but I can’t keep fighting what I feel is right.

  And Balsam Grove feels right.

  As I approach the edge of the winding river less than a minute’s walk from my cottage, it’s like someone has injected me with life. The effects are instantaneous. With a lift of my chin, I close my eyes and inhale until I’m no longer dulled and disoriented. Everything becomes clear. In Balsam Grove, I breathe the air with new lungs, feel the breeze with new skin, and see the land through new eyes. It’s divinity at its finest.

  It’s not hard to understand why I fell in love with this place when I was younger. In a world so busy, so full, and so totally reliant on technology, there’s an incomparable serenity when you come to the mountains. Wandering alongside the river, finding perfect flat stones to skip across the wide divide of water, stopping every so often to memorize the simplest things. I’ve fallen completely under its spell once more.

  I don’t try to navigate my path. I hike beside the river, around every curve and bend, uphill and against the current. It’s a familiar path, but my focus isn’t on the destination. Every now and then I stop to take a drink from the stream, pluck a fiery pink flower, and tune into a wild animal scampering across fallen leaves. But it’s not until I reach a steeper incline that I take a moment to assess where I’m headed.

  The river has significantly deepened and increased in speed since I began walking a few minutes ago. A steeper incline forces me to distance myself from the water’s edge, onto a more manageable path through the woods. My thighs burn from the steady climb, and my throat aches from dehydration. I never planned to journey this far, but I could have at least thought to bring water. I’m ready to turn back, find the river, and drink from it when I spot the top of a familiar red house peeking over the hill. Hummingbirds unleash in my chest as I inch forward.

  Mere seconds later, I’m standing on flat land again, taking in the two-story home that overlooks a waterfall, an old millhouse beside it. It’s like it came out of nowhere, but this house—it’s home to some of my best memories, my biggest dreams, and the beginning of the horrible nightmare that ended life as I knew it.

  “Ah, that’s my girl,” a voice booms in the distance. “Bring it here, Lacey.”

  Shit. Jaxon?

  My eyes sweep left, to the source of the river. Two waterfalls coming from different directions spill into one body of water where Jaxon treads. He’s patting the water as Lacey paddles over with a stick in her mouth.

  My Lacey.

  My chest constricts at the sight of her, no longer a puppy.

  Jaxon takes the stick from her mouth, then rubs her head before she continues paddling to the edge of the river. After she climbs out and does a full body shake to dry off, he tosses the stick to the side and turns back to the water, swimming lap after lap until I’ve lost count. Every powerful stroke reveals inches of well-cut muscle and betrays his familiarity with the water.

  Jaxon always loved everything about the water. Diving, swimming, fishing…sex. I shiver at the memory of how well our slick bodies fit together. Of his delicate fingers stripping me of my bikini top so he could see all of me as he inched his way into my body, my heart. Of his hot mouth wrapping around my pebbled nipple just to hear my whispered cry. Of the way he watched me with hooded eyes as I came for him, my back pressed against a boulder and the plunging falls above us swallowing my cries.

  He took everything good from me, but it was me that handed it over for the taking.

  He’s still mesmerizing, and I can’t take my eyes off him now. With every stroke, I imagine him swimming away from me, away from our past and deeper into the rushing swell of the stream. How long has he been swimming? How far?

  I swallow my anxiety as he finally b
reaks from his exercise to catch his breath. When he does, I’m as breathless as he is.

  I’m not sure how long I’ve been staring when he uses the slick rocks to pull himself from the water, but I’m completely captivated by the droplets coursing down his naked back and arms. He’s all strength and agility, effortlessly pulling himself to his feet. I should turn away, but I don’t. Instead, I watch as water glides from his long hair, down his narrow waist, and then over the most beautiful ass I’ve ever seen.

  Is he…?

  I gasp, my hand clapping over my mouth. But it’s too late. One slip of my breath is all it takes for Lacey’s snout to jerk in my direction and sound off the first menacing growl. Jaxon’s head follows in a swivel just as I slam my body onto the ground, hiding myself from view. Something sharp cuts through my skin at the top of my arm. I groan, knowing blood will follow, but there’s no time to inspect the damage. I need to get out of here before Jaxon sees me.

  And then guilt hits me. Jaxon isn’t mine to ogle. He’s with Meg.

  Lacey is still growling, and she lets out a bark just before I hear the click of paws scraping against the rocks. Shit. She’s coming. I wince, managing to keep my cry silent as I army crawl my way down the hill.

  I make it about halfway when I hear another growl, this one much closer. My head snaps up, and I find myself staring into the ferocious, light blue eyes of the most beautiful creature. Lacey stands on top of the hill, detonating bark after bark, her teeth bared and angry.

  She doesn’t even remember me. My sad heart cries.

  “Lacey! Get back here. Now!” Jaxon’s voice booms.

  The cuddly giant lets out a half-bark, half-yelp before whining and backing up at her master’s command. Relief floods my veins while I watch, wide-eyed, as Lacey retreats, thankful Jaxon decided not to chase after her. I think I might literally die if he saw me this way, lurking around like some predator.

  And that’s when I realize, lurker to lurker, Jaxon and I are now even.