by Lynn Stevens
He shook his head as he took off at a brisk pace down the street. I had to hurry to catch up. When I did, he slowed down enough for us to match a pace. We ran the rest of the way back to his cabin without saying a word to one another. My legs felt like ground hamburger when we finally stopped. Gracin retrieved his key card and held the door open for me. The smell of freshly brewed coffee pulled me inside.
I loved the cabins. During the winter months, Dad would let Nena and Ivy come over and spend the night in an empty one. Very rarely did that happen, but it was a treat when it did. As we got older, it happened less and less. I called him out on it the summer after my freshman year when I saw an open one on a Monday night. Dad’s excuse had been stupid. He’d claimed the cabin needed to be sprayed for bugs. They had all been sprayed a month before, and I knew a lie when I saw it. A lot of things changed during my freshman year. Most of all me.
Gracin’s cabin was a two-bedroom loft, one of the smaller ones on the resort. The front of the house split between an open living room and a kitchen with vaulted ceilings. The stone fireplace took up the wall opposite the kitchen sink. The ladder leaned against the short wall of the kitchen, leading toward the tiny loft. Down a hallway were the doors to a full-size bath complete with Jacuzzi tub and separate shower and a large bedroom. To make the guests’ experiences unique, Dad had decorated each cabin differently and given them individual names. This one was the Fisherman’s Deluxe. The small deck off the back had an excellent view of the lake and a path to the nearest dock.
Gracin had clearly made this place his own. Three acoustic guitars stood in front of the fireplace, one appearing to be older than both of us combined. My surprise must have registered on my face.
“That used to be my grandfather’s.” He picked up to the old guitar and showed me the front of it. Etched into the body and fading with age was a cowboy with a guitar riding on a horse. His head was down and a corn tassel hung from his mouth. It was very country for a techno-pop singer. “He taught me to play on it.”
“You play?” I asked, the disbelief seeping into my voice.
Gracin laughed and gently placed the guitar back on the stand. “Yeah, I can play a lot of instruments.” He brushed by me as he moved toward the kitchen, motioning me to take a seat at the table. “Breakfast?”
“Don’t tell me you cook too? I might not survive all this shocking information.” I pulled out a chair and sat down, not once taking my eyes off him.
He laughed again, as I’d hoped he would. “Afraid all your preconceptions might be shattered?”
“Something like that.”
“Well, don’t get too excited. I’m just getting some sizable grapefruit.” He set a plate in front of me with half the fruit and a spoon before turning toward the coffee pot.
“You do this a lot?” I asked as he moved with the same grace he had onstage.
“You mean have girls over for breakfast?” He didn’t turn around, but I noticed how the muscles in his shoulders tightened. “Not as much as you think.”
It was my turn to laugh, partly because that’s exactly what I’d meant and partly because that was the answer I’d expected.
He didn’t say anything else. I kept waiting for a smartass comment or argument, but he kept his mouth shut as he poured the coffee and placed the creamer and sugar on the table. Finally, he sat down across from me. When he lifted his head and smiled, something was off about him.
“What?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
That’s when I noticed it. His eyes were a different color. I leaned over the table to make sure I wasn’t imagining things. “I thought you had blue eyes.”
“Contacts.”
I sat back, a little disappointed by this development. Not that his eye color was important or anything, but it was like hiding a bit of himself from the world. He didn’t need to do that. His soft hazel eyes were far more beautiful than the too-blue-to-be real ones.
“What’s the difference between my contacts and your purple hair?” Gracin said out of nowhere.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, how did you know about my hair?” I asked a little shocked. “And what are you implying?”
Gracin shrugged and dug into his grapefruit. I waited for an answer, which took a few minutes.
“Your little sister is full of information.”
I closed my eyes. Miranda would not see her freshman year if I had my way.
“I like the dark brown though. It suits you. But you didn’t answer my question.” Gracin smirked around his coffee mug.
“My hair was a personal expression.” He stared back at me, waiting for more. “I liked it.” Still more staring, so naturally I went on the defensive. “So, what’s up with the blue eyes?”
“Personal expression,” he deadpanned. I threw a napkin at him, knowing his answer was just a way to mock me. Gracin ducked with a chuckle. The napkin landed on the floor, and Gracin bent to pick it up. “Okay,” he said, setting the napkin back on the table. “The real reason is worse. The original manager of Accentuate wanted someone with blue eyes. Dad told him I’d wear contacts. So, there you go. Your turn. Why purple?”
“Why not ditch them now?” I asked. “You’ve got beautiful eyes. Why keep hiding them?”
Gracin’s gaze was far more intense without the fake color. The heat of summer took over the small room. Finally, he looked away. “It’s who they think I am.”
A million smartass replies whipped through my brain like icing. Each one was funny, but this moment didn’t need funny. Gracin opened up, so why not do the same? “I … It wasn’t always purple. I started with hot pink my freshman year. It stayed that way, well, with the exception of a brief lime green period, until my junior year when I dyed it red. Last summer, I decided purple was the way to go.” I shrugged and sipped my coffee. I’d never been so open, so exposed.
“But why?” he asked.
God, why can’t I lie to him? It would make this so much easier. I forced the words out in a strong, confident voice. Not at all how I felt. “Because I needed to be somebody else for a while.”
Gracin nodded, and the sudden need to throw up overwhelmed me. Why had I told him? It wasn’t something I’d ever shared with anyone. Nobody even knew why … I couldn’t focus on that now. I needed to get out of this cabin. The walls closed in on me, and the air made it hard to breathe. I stood, my knees shaking from both running and hovering so close to the truth. Without a word, I moved toward the door.
“Carly?” Gracin asked. The concern lacing through those two little syllables was just too much.
I didn’t say anything as I rushed out, letting the door click shut behind me. Halfway home, I pulled off the road and threw up what little breakfast I’d eaten. The memories pushed into my head, and I pushed back. I’d fought for too long to let them get the best of me now.
∞ ∞ ∞
Ignoring Gracin wasn’t easy, but I managed to keep our interactions to a minimum for the next several days. Running with him in the mornings made it difficult, but he stopped trying to make conversation when I refused to participate. I hid in Luke’s tiny office during the day to make a million phone calls. Gracin’s hair had started to lose its blond surfer look, and he needed to get it highlighted. Plus there were interviews to schedule with the media. Gracin’s reviews from the local papers poured in, and they were all great. More than one paper called him “fresh” and “exciting.” My personal favorite was from a reviewer who panned our shows for years. He wrote:
Mountain View Theater finally gets it right by bringing in a fresh young performer in Gracin Ford. Not only is Ford’s performance exciting, but it gives the younger generation a show they can sink their teeth into. Michael Reynolds, owner of Mountain View Resort and Theater, has something that Branson theater has needed for some time: youth.
It was nice to see Dad getting some credit. He worked his butt off all the time. My chest tightened as I recalled the last several days. Things had avalanched between us, and it was up to me to make it
right. How to do that was a whole other problem.
Church bells rang from my pocket. I still hadn’t changed the ringtone on my new phone. Even worse, my SIM card had been damaged when I broke the other phone so I had no idea who was calling me.
“Hello?” I answered after wiggling it free of my pocket. Phones kept getting bigger. At this rate, I’d have to actually start carrying a purse.
“Where have you been?” screeched Nena. “I’ve been calling you forever. Why haven’t you answered?”
A much-needed laugh erupted from my throat. “Thanks, Nen. I needed that.”
“Okay,” she said, dragging the word out so each letter created its own syllable. “Seriously, though. Why haven’t you called me back?”
“Oh, my phone sort of … died the other night. I just got a new one this afternoon.” I tapped my pen against the datebook. “What’s up?”
“Not much. Enjoying my last summer of juvenile delinquency.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Okay, okay, point taken. You’re the juvenile delinquent of the bunch. But that’s not why I’m calling. I know you’re off Monday, so come over for a barbeque. We can get our tan on.” Nena started to sing my least favorite song with her own lyrics, which was always good for a laugh. “It’ll be fun. Ivy’s coming. And I’m sure Janey’ll invite some peeps.”
“My brother included.” That almost put the kibosh on the entire scheme.
“Yeah, your brother will be here, but, seriously, Janey will keep him … occupied.”
“Ew. That’s not something I … Just ew.” The idea almost made me throw up in my mouth.
“Say you’ll come?” Nena begged.
I pretended to think about it, but let her off the hook. “Okay, I’ll be there.” A knock on the door brought me back to reality. I turned to see my father sneak in. “Nena, I have to go. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Hey, Carly,” Dad said as soon as the phone was off my ear. “Can we talk?”
I didn’t like this. Normally Dad’s requests for conversation meant things weren’t going to be good for me. He tugged on his turquoise button-down shirt with the Mountain View Resort logo, looking as uncomfortable as I expected to be in a few minutes.
“I just wanted to apologize for our misunderstanding …” His nervous tick took over as he yanked on his right ear. It was always the right, never the left. Dad was not an equal opportunity ear tugger. “I spoke with Gracin –”
“Oh, God,” I moaned, dropping my head into my hands. How could he bring this up to Gracin? Even worse, how could I look at him without thinking of him talking to my father? My life kept spiraling downhill. Every time I thought I’d hit rock bottom, it was only a ledge on my descent.
“Wait, it’s not what you think. I know I had some concerns about … Anyway, it was unfounded and uncalled for.” He sighed, tugged his ear, and sighed again. “I should’ve said Gracin came to me. We talked about the morning runs and what he expects for the rest of the summer.” Another ear tug. This would make a great drinking game. “He asked about you moving to the hotel for the rest of the season.”
Words stuck on the edge of my lips, turning me into a blubbering mess. “What?”
“I agreed.”
“What?” That time it was louder to the point of shouting.
Confusion covered Dad’s face. “I thought you’d like this. You’ve been bugging me for years to let you spend more time at the hotel. We aren’t sold out, and one room won’t mean much financially –”
“Did you ever consider asking me or am I just expected to do whatever you and Gracin decide?” Rage replaced the shock. I stood and pushed by him into the hall. Then another thought hit me like a cartoon anvil and I turned to face him. “Are you in that big of a hurry to get rid of me?”
Dad gaped like I’d just slapped him. In a way, I had.
I held up my hand. “Never mind. Don’t answer that. I don’t … I just don’t want to know.”
A few of the grips witnessed the last bit of our conversation. They moved out of my way as I passed by. Each step brought another tear from my eye. I didn’t dare wipe them away in case he saw me crying. Was I so bad he didn’t want me around?
Gracin sat in his dressing room throne when I walked in twenty minutes to showtime. The rage from earlier had twisted to pain, but it was now back to full-on rage. He glanced up at me with his fake blue eyes. I hated those contacts right then, because he could hide behind them.
“Where’ve you been?” he asked.
I shook my head as I strode across the room and hung up his dry cleaning from last night’s show. I didn’t say a single word as I went about my job, ignoring his questions until he stood in front of me, blocking me.
“Stop, Carly.” He reached out as if he was going to put his hands on my shoulders, but let them drop at the last second. “What?”
“Oh, I’m allowed to speak. Sorry, wasn’t aware.” I pushed by him toward the dresser that housed his abundant collection of scarves he threw into the crowd each night. Fresh my ass.
“You’re going to have to explain, because I have no clue what you’re talking about.” Gracin stood in the middle of the room so he was never out of my sight or out of my way.
“Hmmm, let me see.” I tapped my chin. “Sleep in my own room with my own stuff or move into the hotel for the summer. What would I choose? Oh wait.” I held up my finger and widened my eyes. “I don’t get to choose.”
Gracin ran his hand over the tips of his perfectly sculpted hair. “Can I explain or would you rather go off the handle more?”
“Since this seems to be my only choice, I choose the handle.” I spun toward the door and grabbed the knob, yanking it out of the shoddy wood. Shaking my head, I threw the cheap thing on the carpet and used my fingers to pry open the door. Before it shut behind me, I leaned back into the room. “You may be used to controlling other people’s lives, Gracin, but you don’t control mine.”
I waited in the wings for Gracin to head toward the stage. He strode past me without a glance. I had three songs until the first quick change, so I listened for the opening number. Gracin ran onto stage with his usual vigor, but once the song started, the charisma disappeared. It felt flat and lifeless, like his heart wasn’t in it. Well, that wasn’t my problem. I hurried to the dressing room and grabbed the next few changes and some scarves. When I got back to my post, the third song was just ending.
Gracin stopped in front of me but didn’t shed his fake leather jacket. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It was selfish, I admit, but I had my reasons.”
I stared at him as the band switched into the opening frame of his next song, but Gracin didn’t budge.
“I thought it would be better if you were closer. The nights are tough. Having you stay at the hotel would make it easier than seeing you cross town on that scooter, which I’m fairly sure isn’t all that safe. Plus, you’ve been getting up early to run with me the last few days, so that’s cutting into your sleep as much as the late nights. And …” He inhaled and closed his eyes. On the long exhale, he opened them and the bright glint of the light reflected off the blue of his fake eyes. “And I wanted you closer. Is that so bad?” He reached out this time and put his hands on my shoulders, bending his head down to stare me right in the eye. One of the stage managers shouted that Gracin needed to get back on stage, but he wasn’t paying a damned bit of attention. He kept his focus on me. “Forgive me?”
My head bobbed before what he said registered. I mean, I’d heard him well enough, but it took a minute to sink into my brain. He smiled and switched from his leather jacket to the denim vest on the run back to the stage.
What the hell had just happened?
CHAPTER SIX
When my alarm went off at five the next morning, I regretted not agreeing to the move. I could’ve slept for another forty-five minutes. I stretched my arms over my head as I strolled to the kitchen, the tiles cold against my feet. Most people hated cold tile against warm feet, but I didn�
�t mind. Mainly because they woke my sorry butt up. I couldn’t remember pouring the water into the coffee maker or putting the coffee into the basket, but I must have because the smell of black gold wafted to my nose. That’s the best aroma in the morning.
My groggy head almost missed the sound of vibrating metal dancing across the granite countertop. I stared at the text for a minute, wondering if this was a dream or not. The phone vibrated again.
Come to the front door.
Carly, I know you’re awake. Come to the door. It’s important.
At this time in the morning, it better be important. When I got to the door and opened it, I realized my first mistake. Gracin’s eyes widened at the sight of me, then dropped slowly as he took in every inch of my exposed body. It wasn’t like I was naked, but the white chemise and black satin boxers weren’t exactly appropriate with a guy standing at the front door. So I wore it with attitude. I slammed my hands on my hips and winced when my phone crushed against the bone.
“What?” I kept my voice at a barely contained whisper.
Gracin shook his head, like he’d just remembered why he showed up at my house unannounced. “Nice hair.” He pointed at my wild locks. Static refused to let my strands lay flat in the morning. It was like my hair wanted to escape my head. “And nice clothes.”
I clenched my jaw and dug my fingers into my boxers. “Why are you here, Gracin?”
Instead of answering, he held out his cell phone to an open email. My mind wasn’t really focusing on the words. “Shipment” and “six a.m.” were the only ones making a lick of sense.
“Let’s go,” he said, slipping his phone out of my hand before turning on his heel.
“Wait a sec.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “You may not get this, but I’m still waking up. Just tell me what’s going on.”
Gracin strolled back toward the door. “We need to get to the train depot to pick up my truck.”
“Okay, I’m totally confused. How did you get here?” I dropped my hand and stared at him.
