by Jess Bentley
The wheels of the car lost traction and Arsen felt was if he were driving on ice. The car veered sharply, there was a big bang, and Arsen felt a sudden impact on his face. Then it all went blank as Arsen Ford, the greatest guitar player of his generation, passed into blackness.
“I’ve lived a life that's full. I've traveled each and every highway,” Sinatra sang to the empty, dark street.
Chapter 2
A little over fifteen hours before…
Half her mind was still lost in last night’s hazy dream. The other half was struggling to make sense of the rapidly spoken words that was the voice on the other end of the phone. The dream had been fantastic, though she struggled to remember the details. But she knew how it felt. Happy. The voice yapping away on the phone, her mother’s in this case, was anything but.
As she always did when talking to her mother, Rory went on autopilot. Give her enough yeses, and she’ll be content. Not happy, of course, because her mother was rarely happy. And almost never when it involved matters concerning her elder daughter. Elder by a whole nine minutes.
“Yes, Mother. I got the dress in one piece.” Rory opened a single eye in response to the sharp sunlight that had invaded through a forgotten gap between two curtains. She hated bright light in the morning.
“Yes, Mother. I will try it on today.”
Her bedroom was comfortable. Not luxurious, but homey. The same drapes, cushions, and soft carpets from when she moved in, still adorned the place. She sneaked out a yawn, stretched her left arm, and took a glance at the hideously pink bridesmaid’s dress that lay listlessly over the chair by the large French window.
“Yes, Mother!” Rory was annoyed at being asked the same question again. How freakin’ dumb does she think I am? she wondered for the millionth time.
She swung her legs off the bed and rubbed her feet softly against the carpet, a habit she had developed as a kid. Her mind constantly looked for an opening to cut short this conversation with her mother. There was no getting up on the right side of the bed when her mother was the one giving the wakeup call. Mary Loughlin—wife, mother, tormentor.
Rory hated what she saw in the tall mirror that stood by the side of her bed. She had no proof other than her own two eyes, but she was pretty sure that she’d put on a few pounds in the last month or so; maybe from too many drinks on vacation. She sucked in her gut, pushed up her chest, and tightened her jaw. A long sigh left her mouth as she realized that this couldn’t have happened at a worse time.
Are starving artists allowed to put on weight? She chuckled to herself, the thought ending as she wondered whether she could even call herself an artist anymore. Artists created pieces of art, through which they made statements of eternal value. She, on the other hand, was designing T-shirts to make ends meet.
At least my ass looks good, Rory thought as she tilted her head sideways. She had no clue how she was going to fit into the bridesmaid’s dress in time.
She sat back on the bed with a thud and rubbed her temples. As it was, she was dreading going to this wedding, and now she had to worry about fitting in this stupid dress too. Lizzy, her closest friend in Montcove, had implored her to try it out, but Rory just couldn’t. The dress symbolized what her own family was—old-fashioned, boring and uncomfortable.
Speaking of boring and uncomfortable...
“Everything is fine here, Mother,” Rory answered absentmindedly as she picked up the dress from the table, her thoughts turning to gloom as she glanced at what lay underneath. Last notice for tax payments and the annual homeowners insurance bill for this enormous house that her grandmother had left her. For weeks she wondered if asking her parents for help would be a decent idea.
She knew the answer to that.
“No, Mother, I don’t need any help with anything, but thanks.” Rory couldn’t let her parents get a chance to prove their point—that their elder daughter wasn’t able to manage things on her own. Even if it meant that she’d risk losing this house. No handouts. Something will turn up, she told herself.
“Mother, I gotta go now, take care of the shop…Yes! That silly little bookshop of mine.” I’d like to have one conversation with her where I don’t end up shaking my head in frustration, she thought.
“Okay, Mother. Take care.” No I love yous to be said. They never were. As always, Rory hung up the phone feeling much worse.
She had less than three weeks to fit into this dress and to find a date to take to the wedding. When she thought about it, the dress was the least of her worries. It was her younger sister’s wedding, and in the conservative religious community that her parents belonged to, questions would be asked about the elder daughter. Even if she was elder by a mere nine minutes.
Rory had no doubts that her parents were constantly at work to find dates for her, guys she would certainly have to meet at the wedding and be forced to have polite conversations with. As the day grew nearer her anxiety worsened, and she wished that she could make some excuse and stay away from it all. Maybe there will be a hurricane and all flights out of Montcove will be grounded.
A girl can hope.
She had loved Montcove ever since she started coming here for summer vacations as a child. Tara, her sister, hated the humidity and the sand. Rory, on the other hand, would spend all day chasing butterflies and running around trails with her friend Alicia when she’d visit. Montcove was still scenic, still beautiful, and whatever little peace and calm they had left since the celebrity invasion started a few years ago was enough for her.
Most of all she loved Montcove because it reminded her of her beloved grandmother who had passed on last year at the ripe age of ninety-five. It was remarkable that Colleen Loughlin had worked till her nineties, stopping only after a hip operation.
After dropping out of school at USC in LA, and left with a choice between moving back with her parents or becoming homeless, Rory had decided to head to Montcove and take care of her grandmother instead. That was the wisest decision Rory had ever made, as it not only brought her close to grandma Colleen, it also allowed her to alienate herself from her time in the big city of Los Angeles. If she had her way, she would never again set foot in that godforsaken place for as long as she lived. The only thing that was good about it was her friendship with Alicia anyway, and she’d moved to NYC.
On her deathbed Colleen Loughlin had joked that if it weren’t for Rory coming in to stay with her, she would’ve passed away much earlier. A sinking feeling engulfed Rory’s heart, bringing tears to her eyes every time she thought of Colleen’s last moments. Her grandmother had barely been dead when her lawyer sister had pulled out the will.
Tara Loughlin and her long-term fiancé Paul had been pissed that Grandma Colleen had left Rory the sprawling Montcove property. Tara apparently had plans to make the place her summer home, where she and her husband could entertain corporate clients.
The triumph of that victory was short-lived for Rory once she realized the cost involved in keeping such a house in shape. Saying that she had struggled to make ends meet would be an understatement. Ten years ago she could’ve made a good living from a bookstore, but who bought books anymore? Especially in a town of 22,000 people. Tourists certainly didn’t.
Besides, what did she know about running her grandma’s bookstore or maintaining a house this big? But she couldn’t close up shop. The Open Book, her grandma’s store, was a Montcove landmark. Everyone knew Colleen and in a way, the bookshop was what kept her memory alive. Keeping it open was her tribute to her grandmother. Apart from the few tourists who came into the shop to search for something to read or the declining regular residents, she barely saw any sales. At least it gave her plenty of time to get back to her first love, sketching.
The sound of the shop computer booting up greeted her as she slid in with a warm cup of coffee in her hands.
“Morning, sunshine.” Lizzy stood there with a wide smile on her face. The girl had really grown in the years that Rory had lived at Montcove. No longer was she
the lanky teenager that followed Rory everywhere. But she still worked at the bookstore, a job that she had been given by Colleen Loughlin when she was caught tearing pages out of a teen magazine.
“I swear I thought it was gonna rain. I think I even dreamt of it last night.” Lizzy said as she absentmindedly flipped through her phone.
“Did you do something with your hair? It looks different,” Rory quizzed.
“Thank you for noticing, ma’am, and yes, I did. Isn’t it wonderful?” Lizzy tossed her head, showing off her new bangs.
“You have it easy. Everything looks good on you.” Rory smiled warmly.
“I’m telling you, you gotta let me take you to this stylist. She is magic!” It was not the first time Rory was hearing Lizzy brag about her stylist, but for Rory the idea of spending a hundred dollars on a haircut was insanity. She never even mentioned to Lizzy that she trimmed her hair herself. Besides, I’ll probably get a free updo at Tara’s wedding. At least one good thing will come out of it.
“Good sales?” Lizzy asked as Rory logged onto her online T-shirts shop.
Rory had been sure that this idea would work. People loved wearing funny, unique T-shirts, and people loved shopping on the internet. The idea couldn’t possibly fail. Besides, if she wasn’t making any money from the bookshop, she had to find an alternate source of income. But a year after setting up her own shop and putting up a hundred T-shirts designs for sale, she still struggled to make a consistent income that barely covered her expenses.
“Good enough.” Rory faked a smile. “Hey, how was your weekend, Lizzy?”
“O.M.G. it was awesome! I met a bunch of friends from high school and we went shopping, got ourselves dolled up, and hit some clubs and I swear, not kidding, that I spotted Brad Pitt.” Lizzy’s eyes were huge, her voice reaching its highest pitch as her hands flew up in the air.
“Here? On our little island? Brad Pitt?” Rory smiled. Lizzy claimed to have seen all the big celebrities in the world at some point or another. This celeb spotting was as hard to believe as all the others, but Rory didn’t contradict her.
“Did you blow him a kiss?”
“I wish. He was in the VIP area and we were down below. But I did scream ‘I love you, Brad!’” Lizzy shouted to the ceiling as if Brad himself were suspended there. Rory laughed. She might live in a dreamland, but she sure is a constant source of entertainment. Lizzy was like the younger sister she’d always wanted.
After the whirlwind of USC, Rory’s life in Montcove wasn’t so bad. She lived in a pretty house, had the adorable Lizzy for company, and was well loved among the other locals she knew. It was only when she browsed her sister’s Facebook feed and saw her living the perfect American life with her fiancé that she felt depressed and even jealous, though she would rarely admit it.
She had no one to call her own. No future prospects. No townhouse at a prime location or a job that was almost like a money tree. It also reminded her how disappointed her parents must be in her. That was one of the reasons why she hated family events; they were simply an unending paean to her sister's accomplishments. Tara practically printed money and got one promotion after another while Rory, after countless failed jobs, was struggling to sell T-shirts online.
Tara is going to have a perfect wedding with the perfect husband and lead a perfect life, while I’m probably going to die all by myself in this huge house. Rory sat back and stared at the bottom of the almost-finished coffee cup. It never gets easy, does it? she thought, her thoughts veering back to the bills and notices that lay on the side table in her bedroom.
“You know who else I saw?” Lizzy continued. “Martha.”
“Martha? Martha Stewart?” Rory raised a brow, ready to doubt another name drop.
“No, silly, Martha from the bakery. She’s making her way to the door right now.”
Rory turned and a smile grew on her face. Martha, the old lady who owned the German bakery and who was her grandmother’s closest friend, was walking in the door. Jeez, when was the last time I saw her?
“How are you, hon’?” Martha asked, as Rory embraced her. Right behind her was Sharon, one of the neighbors. Sharon was stay-at-home-mother to three children, who were not the most well-behaved.
“I’m good. And you... you look good too.” Rory smiled back.
“You still got this one around, I see.” Martha nodded at Lizzy, who in turn went bright red. Martha was always chiding the girl to be more ladylike, and Rory was convinced that Lizzy was terrified of the old lady. If it weren’t for the insanely good cupcakes Martha made, Lizzy probably wouldn’t step within a hundred feet of her.
“Sharon was at the bakery and mentioned that she was coming here, so I thought I’d surprise you as well. Not like you ever bother to visit this poor old woman,” Martha went on.
“It’s not that and you know it. It’s just been so busy.” Rory was looking for excuses, but her mind was going blank. “You know Tara’s getting married and there’s so much to do, and the shop and …life in general,” she sighed.
“That little sister of yours? Married? God save the poor fella.” As Martha made the sign of a cross, even Lizzy let out a chuckle, though sheepishly. Tara had never been kind to Lizzy, bullying her constantly.
“Yes, in two weeks. He’s in the same line of work as she is. My mother is pretty excited.” Rory kept a polite smile on her face.
“Well, good for her,” Martha replied. Rory could feel that there was a question in there somewhere. And what about you, Rory?
“Rory, I need some storybooks. Some with a lot of pictures to keep my boys quiet. I barely have a moment for myself and I am not sure how much more of it I can take,” Sharon said as she browsed the shelves.
“Sure thing. There are tons of them here. Lizzy, show her around, will you please?” Rory replied and escorted Martha to the coffee table they had set up by the counter for people who wanted to read in the store. It hadn’t seen much occupancy of late.
As curious as she was, Martha didn’t prod much or ask questions Rory wasn’t ready to answer. Instead, she spent the next hour gossiping with Rory—about people they knew, about people only she knew and about her incompetent kitchen staff.
Lizzy had prepared some tea and opened the bag of goodies that Martha had brought for them. It had been a long time since they had tea like this. When Grandma Colleen was alive, it happened almost daily. It had a sense of familiarity, of comfort. Like slipping into a comfy, old pair of jeans.
By the time the two women left, it was well past lunchtime and Rory was left with Lizzy blabbing on and on in her ear. Lizzy’s lack of ambition and intelligence got to her at times, but she reminded herself that not everyone has to have the same kind of goals that she herself had in life.
Goals that I have not done anything about. Rory stopped herself before she slid down a dark hole of self-pity. She had enough to worry about already, like fitting into that damn dress and making it through another family gathering.
To divert her mind from such thoughts, Rory logged onto her online store again. Gone were the days when she checked her sales data with excitement. Now she just prayed that a few pieces would sell everyday so that she had enough to make ends meet. There was nothing she wished for more than financial freedom, and the more she strived for it, the more it seemed to evade her.
Three new sales, it said. Rory stared at the screen numbly. Maybe sales will pick up later in the evening. She repeated the mantra that she told herself almost on a daily basis. Her only saving grace through all these years of struggle had been her ability to stay positive and keep a straight face. Of late, she hadn’t been sure if she would be able to maintain it for long.
Irritated, she walked away from the computer. Only a total of two other customers walked into the bookshop for the rest of the day. One had just browsed around silently while the other had bought a map of the island.
Lizzy left at five as she had a Zumba class, an invitation to which Rory declined. Forty dollars to dance
around? No, thank you. Besides, evenings were her favorite time to sketch, and she was not going to give that up for anything.
The day before, she started on a new T-shirt design: an overly smiley, plumply cartoonish garibaldi fish with thick lips and a sarcastic smile. She was sure it would appeal to kids. After trying all sorts of designs from faux artistic impressions to vintage cars to stuff with a lot of text on it, she had no qualms about diversifying further. Nothing had really worked for her so far except that one time when a lot of those “Keep Calm” T-shirts had been trendy.
Rory was really hoping that this cartoon character that she had envisioned in a weird dream would take her to the next level and provide her with financial security. She was sick of skipping dinner every other day and cutting costs wherever she could. At one point she even thought about giving up the house to her sister, but found it incredibly hard to let the memories of her grandma go.
She smiled as she thought of Grandma Colleen and got down to sketching again. Even though she was no longer in this world, just the memories of late-night talks with Granny strengthened her resolve to do more with her life. Rory just wished that she had such a strong resolve twenty-four hours a day.
She was lost in sketching and thinking up a name for the character when the rain started lashing down. Nothing like a long, deep sleep in the rain to rejuvenate the body and the mind, she thought to herself as she got up from her desk to head to her bedroom.
Her footsteps echoed around the huge, Victorian-style house where every rustle of the wind sounded like reverberating waves of the ocean. Rory wrapped herself in a comfy nightgown and was about to get in bed when she felt the floor shake and heard a loud booming noise, like that of a bomb exploding.
Chapter 3
Arsen felt like he often did after a very heavy workout in the gym. Except this was much worse, as every single muscle in his body ached more like he had been beaten with a club. He wasn’t even sure whether he was alive or dead. The sound of whirling winds still surrounded him, and he felt a trickle make its way down his face. Water, or maybe blood? His vision was limited to the blur that was in front of his eyes.
