by Lindy Zart
“I wonder if I helped her, or if I made things worse.” In my heart, I think I did the right thing. But then, I’m not exactly the best at making decisions, if my dating record is anything to go by.
Paisley’s aunt and uncle live in Montana, and that’s my next stop. Her relatives have a child of their own around her age. I know she gets along with them all. This is good for her. She has a loving family, and a home, and stability. It’s all I ever wanted as a kid, and my choices allowed Paisley to have something I couldn’t. Still, I feel like I abandoned her, even though she was the one to go. I have to see them all together with my own eyes, just once, before I’ll really believe Paisley is where she should be.
I left the state soon after Paisley, fearing Jonesy would get out of jail and hunt me down, or one of his slime ball friends would come after me.
Blake didn’t make a sound as he moved, but somehow, he’s directly before me, and then his arms are around me, and he’s holding me. So tight, it hurts to breathe. Just right. Tremors course through me, and his arms lock harder around me. Blake rubs a slow circle in my back, and I relax against him, my head fitting perfectly beneath his chin.
“You did the best you could in a bad situation,” he tells me, conviction strengthening his voice, turning it to whiskey.
I tip my head back, and meet his stormy eyes. The tears dry; the sorrow fades. All because I’m looking at a man who believes in me. I touch my index finger to the dimple in his chin. His unshaven skin is rough and welcome.
“Be reckless with me, Blake, just this once,” I offer.
His eyebrows lower, two lightning bolts joining the thunder of his eyes. His mouth hitches on one end, causing my stomach to spin. “If it involves a second attempt at cooking, I’m going to have to pass.”
“I can cook,” I protest, stepping from his embrace.
“That’s usually the first step to burning something, yes. You cook it, overcook it, burn it, cause a fire. There are steps.”
I spin around, walking backward toward the edge of the porch. “I tell you what, if we ever see each other again after tomorrow, I’ll cook tater tot casserole.” I pretend my words don’t cause a pinprick of pain to gather inside me. If we ever see each other again after tomorrow…
“Tater tot casserole,” he repeats slowly, watching me closely.
I slide my feet back, nodding as I go. “Yes. Have you ever had it?”
Blake scratches the side of his head. “I don’t know, but it sounds like it’s probably a good thing if I haven’t.”
“Paisley loved it and wanted me to make it every week. And you know if a kid likes it, it has to be good. I’ll prove it. If we ever see each other again,” I add, hopping down from the porch step. Again with the sting, again with pretending it isn’t there.
I pick up the blanket, wad it up, and throw it at Blake. It hits his stomach and falls to the porch. Leaning his shoulder against the framework of the porch, Blake crosses his arms. “What are you doing?”
“Being reckless.”
“If standing in the dark and being cold is your idea of being reckless, then I might have to teach you a thing or two…more.” He says that last word in a whisper that induces images of us, naked.
“Don’t act like I didn’t teach you a thing or two myself,” I say haughtily. If anything, I taught him how to laugh during sex. That doesn’t even sound right. In fact, that sounds really bad.
Blake’s eyes smolder. “Oh, you did.”
Curiosity piqued, I squint my eyes and demand, “Like what?”
He grins, and the flash of white teeth is darkly seductive. I imagine his teeth nipping at my skin, and I shiver, from the cold, from the way Blake makes me feel. “I don’t kiss and tell,” is his low reply.
I snort. “You just kiss, right?” And kiss. And kiss.
Blake pauses, and my heartbeat is caught in the grip of it. “Yes.”
Exhaling slowly, I rub a shaking hand to the side of my neck. I’m not sure what I’m doing, but I need to move on from the sexuality presently throbbing in the air that separates us. I don’t really have a plan. But it’s our last night together, and I think it should be epic. I don’t exactly know what qualifies as epic. Me plus Blake is a good start. I search my brain, trying to think of options. I mean, obviously there is sex. Sex would be an epic way to spend our last night together. But I don’t want that—well, I do, but I want something else too.
Stop thinking about sex, I scold myself.
“What do you want to do with your life, Opal?”
The question comes out of nowhere, and surprises me. His eyes are like blades against my soul. Sharp. Glinting. Fatal.
I want to only have between us the simplicity of truth. So, in my own way, this is as reckless as I can get. Opening up to someone, being totally honest. I should be scared, but I’m not. I take a fresh inhalation of air into my lungs. And then I show Blake a piece of my heart.
“I don’t know what I want to do with my life, but I know what I want to do with you, if we had more time.”
“Tell me,” he softly beckons.
“I want to watch cheesy movies with you, and I want you to tell me something funny, and I want you to tell me something sad. I want to—I want to tell you something unimportant, like how I make tater tot casserole, and I want you to humor me, even though you don’t really want to know how I make tater tot casserole. I want to draw you—all of you. I want you to ask me something meaningful, and I want you to care about my answer. I want a hundred little things that seem silly, but are everything,” I say in the darkness, my eyes locked on the glow of his.
Blake stares at me, a statue of unrealized wonder. He drops his arms and moves, his footsteps even and sure as he makes his way toward me, never once breaking his hold on my gaze. Blake stops when he is a touch away. The world of unspoken thoughts that make up people are paused between us, hovering on lips, waiting to be discovered.
“Tell me your tater tot casserole recipe.”
It is the most perfect response. I smile, and it wobbles, but it’s strong. I place my hand to his sharp cheek, and he briefly holds it there. I feel my heartbeat speed up and I move past him, toward the house. Leaning down to retrieve the blanket, I wrap it around my shoulders and shuffle back to the warmth of the house. Up the stairs, down the hall, and into Blake’s bedroom.
8
Opal
I set the blanket on the bed and turn, knowing Blake followed.
“I thought you wanted to watch cheesy movies?” He stops in the doorway, a hand on either side of the doorframe. The light of the hallway silhouettes him, giving his brooding persona darkness it doesn’t need. Blake is already intimidating. “I don’t have cable or satellite, but there are some DVDs.”
“If we do everything tonight, what will we do the next time we meet? Don’t answer that,” I hastily add as a lustful gleam appears in his eyes.
“You mean, besides make tater tot casserole?” His hands fall away from the doorframe. He turns on the light and enters the room. Blake looks down at me, the severity of his features softened by the emotion in his eyes. “Will there be a next time?”
“I guess we’ll see. I have lots of places to see, people to draw. Money to make. Who knows where I’ll end up?” I try to make my tone flippant and carefree, but it catches around the lump in my throat.
He doesn’t say anything.
“Anyway, won’t you be in Australia?”
Blake touches my hair, fingering the strands as his eyes delve into mine. He doesn’t talk until he has my full attention. “I want to work with kids because I understand how helpless they can feel, and I want to let them know they don’t have to feel that way. No matter how bad things can get, they can always get better too.”
“You don’t need a degree to help kids,” I inform him.
“I know.” He nods, confliction like cra
cks of discontent on his face. “And Australia…I have the ticket and the passport. I’m scheduled to leave in less than fourteen days. I should go.”
“You should go,” I agree, even though my inner voice screams that he shouldn’t.
His gaze drops. “I’ve been dreading confronting my dad, but since I’ve been with you, I’ve barely thought of him. But…I know I need to talk to him. I also feel like I need to be here, and maybe work on my grandpa’s dream. It feels like it’s my dream just as much as it was his.”
There they are—Blake’s truths.
“Then you should,” I tell him around a tight throat. “You should do all of those things.”
“What if…” He smoothes down my hair, studies it to keep his eyes hidden from mine. “What if I can’t do it?”
“You just have to believe in yourself.”
His mouth goes thin; his hand moves away. Blake’s gaze shifts to me and beyond. “I don’t know if I can.”
Another truth, although this one is harder to hear.
“Well, I do.” I smile up at him. “When you doubt yourself, remind yourself that I don’t.”
Clouds sweep across his face, and I turn to the bed, wondering why I told him that. This whole potentially epic night is turning maudlin.
I plop down on the bed and fold my hands over my stomach. Closing my eyes, I wait for him to either come to bed, or go. The sound of the light switch turning off fills the quiet, and then the bed lowers with his weight.
He moves closer, and my breaths spasm. Blake slides an arm beneath my neck and pulls me to his side. I breathe deeply, turning to better fit against him. My head rests on his chest. I inhale his scent, feel his warmth, and I sink into his partial embrace. I never liked it when Jonesy held me. He breathed heavy, and he squished me more than hugged me. I like it when Blake holds me. A lot.
“So,” he says.
I tense.
“Tell me how you make tater tot casserole.”
I laugh and put an arm around him, anchoring myself to him. “You can make it with ground turkey, if you care about your health.”
“Which is a nonissue for you.”
My lips curve up. “Exactly. I use ground beef. One pound. I brown it in a frying pan.”
“Mmm. Keep talking. You’re making me…hungry.” He sounds hungry, all right—hungry for me.
“You can use whatever vegetables you like—I prefer mixed, of the canned variety. Frozen is supposedly better for you, but I like to go all out. I have no shame when it comes to food.”
Blake’s fingers stroke my hair. “Sounds tantalizing.”
“In a nine-by-thirteen pan, I mix together the vegetables, drained hamburger—”
“You drain it?” he interrupts. “Isn’t that cheating? You know, kind of healthy?”
“You’re overdoing the interest. I can’t even take you seriously right now,” I say wryly.
His chest shakes with stifled laughter. “I’ll tone it down.”
I smile sleepily, my hand flexing against his ribcage. “French onion soup mix is the secret ingredient. I like cream of celery soup with it, but you can use mushroom or chicken. Two cans. Super healthy.”
“The healthiest,” he murmurs.
“I mix it all together, add some cheddar cheese, dump a full bag of tater tots on top—a full bag, Blake. Anything else is not enough—and then I put it in the oven. When it’s done, I add more cheese on top. It sounds awesome, right?”
When he doesn’t respond, I go to my elbows and stare down at his face in the dark. His eyes are closed, his breathing even and relaxed. Leaning up, I press my lips to his left cheek, and then his right. I kiss his forehead and his chin. I kiss his hawkish nose. And when his lips quirk, I kiss them as well.
9
Blake
My eyes fly open to the sound of large machinery, nonstop pounding in my head, and Opal’s hair suffocating me. She doesn’t have a lot of it, but it’s thick and cantankerous. I push it away from my face, and then I wrap my arms around her and mold my front to her backside.
Never one to commit to anything, before Opal there has not been another woman here. I haven’t liked anyone enough to show them my home; to share with them what my grandfather left me. I don’t do relationships. I don’t do attachments. I don’t do a lot of things I’ve done since meeting Opal. I brush the back of my hand down the side of her arm. I don’t even know her last name.
In the hours between consciousness and slumber, we talked, and kissed, and held each other, and it was better than sex—or at least just as good. Not that I’ll ever admit such a thing. She sighs in her sleep and scoots her bottom dangerously close to my man parts. With my eyes closed, I press my face against her shoulder and hug her for maybe the last time.
The pounding isn’t only in my head, but also outside. I sit up, careful not to disrupt Opal, and I turn in the direction of the window. Walking over to it, the sun greets me, along with the excavating equipment owned by Dan Kline. I open the window and stick out my head, cool air brushing across my face.
There is a shiny black Dodge truck parked down the road, on the other side of the waterhole presently being filled. A blond duo moves into my line of vision. A chill slithers down my spine, and I flinch back from the window, staring at Opal’s sleeping form as my pulse hitchhikes its way out of my body. Grennedy is here. Why are they here? What possible reason could they have for showing up? Then I remember the unanswered texts and phone calls, and I groan, thumping the back of my head against the wall. Shit. I forgot about them.
Hearing the noise, Opal sits up, sleepily blinking at me. Her hair sticks up around her head, and her eyes are swollen. The Prince T-shirt hangs off one shoulder, exposing sun-kissed skin. God, she looks hot. “What are you doing?”
Graham and Kennedy can’t meet her, but it isn’t like I can exactly hide her.
“Oh, you know, contemplating why I ever thought being sober was a good life choice.”
Opal’s eyebrows furrow.
“Blake! If you don’t answer the door, we will be forced to…forcefully…force our way in!” The voice comes from directly beneath the open window, is screechy, high-pitched, and should not be in North Dakota. In a softer voice, she concludes with, “That sounded ridiculous. Why did you let me say that?”
“If only I’d known what you were about to say.”
“Get with it, Graham. You should know who you’re sleeping with.”
“I know you pretty well.”
“But not well enough to know the awesomeness I’m about to say before I say it.”
“Even I have my limits.”
We stare at one another, listening to my half-brother and his girlfriend have their form of normal conversation.
“I don’t think he’s here,” Kennedy comments.
“Who is that?” Opal wonders, getting up and shuffling toward me. She shivers as the cool wind from the open window hits her, rubbing her arms.
“He’s here. His truck is here.”
“Maybe he went for a walk.”
A pause, and then they both laugh.
Opal’s eyes shoot to mine, a frown showing her unease. “Blake? What’s going on?”
I don’t move. I don’t speak. All I can do is look into honey eyes and wish this wasn’t happening. When Opal meets Graham and Kennedy, it’s all over. It’s time to go back to reality. I knew it was anyway, what with the ditch being filled in at this very moment. It’s time to say goodbye. But this—Opal—I didn’t want to have to share her with anyone, least of all Grennedy.
Giving me a look, Opal places her hands on the window ledge and peers down. “Who are those people?”
“Who are you?” is called back by Kennedy.
“Lori,” Opal replies, glancing at me.
“Is Blake up there with you, Lori?” Graham asks.
“I’m not sure.” She moves back from the window, looking at me. “Are you here?”
“Lori?” I ask.
Opal shrugs. “Habit. She owned a daycare. I stayed with her for almost a year, and helped her out with the kids after school. You have no idea how much babies poop.”
“It’s my half-brother and his girlfriend,” I confess, running fingers through my hair as I walk to the opposite side of the room.
“I didn’t know you had a brother. I mean, not that I should, but…” Opal trails off when I face her. “You’re not happy about them being here.”
“Not especially.” Rolling my shoulders, I determine it’s best to get this over with instead of drawing it out. I look at Opal. “Can you…” I hesitate, not sure how to word it in a way that isn’t offensive. “Can you hang out up here for a bit, just until I can figure out how to handle this?”
Something happens to Opal. It’s nothing really obvious, but it’s like a little of her light fades. Her shoulders go limp; her eyes dim. Even her crazy hair loses some of its spunk. “Sure. I’ll just hide out until the coast is clear.”
“It’s not like that,” I insist, crossing the room to her. I take her face in my hands and gaze into thousands of untold stories, hopes, dreams, all kept locked up tight in the warm eyes watching me. I want to know them all. I want that more than anything, but if nothing else, I know this is my final day in her company. “I’m embarrassed of them, not you.”
Her light comes back, blinding me with the brightness of her smile. “I can’t wait to meet them then.”
A groan is all I can manage.
I don’t bother changing out of my T-shirt and shorts I slept in, quickly brushing my teeth before heading down to face Graham and Kennedy. My chest tightens and I breathe against it. I unlock the door and open it to two golden-haired beauties. Barbie and Ken, or as I like to call them, Grennedy. It fits. They’re basically one strange entity.
“Blake!” Kennedy, dressed in a purple skirt and black top, propels herself at me. Slim arms wrap around my neck and squeeze. “Tell me you didn’t miss me.”
