Emma, who waits outside, flashes her beautiful smile as she nods and follows behind Jack, who reaches back to take Emma’s hand into his. Jack has a moment of trouble with the door. The lock seems to want to stick. With a short cracking noise, the door finally flies open to room number eleven. Jack leads the way in, the room smelling faintly of cigarette smoke and a mixture between lemon and rose. Emma bites the bottom of her lip as she places a hand to the door, slowly shutting and looping the chain lock into its place.
Jack sits at the edge of the bed, which softly creaks, his hands resting behind him against the floral-printed red comforter. Without word or warning, Emma launches herself onto Jack, their lips and bodies meeting, firmly pressing against one another. Their kissing launches into a frantic rush, as though they only have moments to spend together, that they would only have these few minutes and would be separated forever and placed upon separate sides of the universe.
All the ways that Jack thought that this night could possibly play out, this moment was the farthest from his mind on the list of potential outcomes. After making out with the girl that he was convinced was far too good for him, he was shocked at her suggestion that perhaps the time was growing a bit late, that they should arrive, instead, in the morning. With Emma seated upon him, and her legs nearly wrapped around him, Jack begins to realize that this is not a dream, or some kind of hallucination; he is really here. He begins to remove her soft blue jacket, and she helps. His hands seem unlike his own as he undoes each button on her white shirt, and when he finishes with the last one she pulls the shirt away, tossing it down carelessly to the floor.
Fixated with the sight of Emma in her bra, Jack runs his hand against her chest. He brushes his fingers against an old silver necklace, and chuckles as he turns over the charm, revealing the form of a green dinosaur.
“It’s a brontosaur. It’s an antique charm my father gave me—from those old Sinclair gas stations that used to cover Route 66,” Emma whispers with a slightly embarrassed laugh. “I’ve been drawing dinosaurs ever since I was a kid. I guess you could say I have a thing for long-dead things.”
“You’ll love my grandfather, then,” Jack replies.
Emma laughs once more, her eyes smiling in tiny blue slits, as she playfully brushes her hair away from her face. She looks at Jack’s face for a moment longer, as though she is studying his features, committing them to memory. In that moment, Jack realizes that she feels the same way. All of the stupid thoughts—that she does not really like him, or that he is too unremarkable—they quickly fade from his mind. They resume kissing instead of talking, for it feels much more natural state for their lips to do. Emma pulls up at Jack’s shirt, and in an instant it is gone, lying against the floor beside her white shirt with its many pearl white buttons, as Jack fumbles for a moment with the clasp of the bra until that, too, meets the floor.
Jack kisses at Emma’s neck as he cups her breast in his hand. She moans gently. Her skin is soft against his fingers, and he lingers for many moments, exploring, tracing the line of her beautiful form as though he was an artist sketching details onto canvas. Her pants are open with just one button, one swift move of his thumb and forefinger. Emma backs away for a second, her eyes never leaving his, as she slides her pants and panties away, revealing her complete form to Jack in the dim yellow light of the bedside lamp. He cannot take his eyes away, not that the thought or wish would ever cross his mind. Jack removes the rest of his clothing as smoothly as possible, in spite of his nervousness. He feels vulnerable, his body completely exposed. Emma runs a hand down Jack’s chest, both calming him and exciting him immensely she brings her body to his, until he can feel himself slide inside of her.
Emma’s small, cute moans fill the air, which is humid from the heavy breathing. Jack begins to love the sound, with each thrust upward she encourages him further. Her bare breasts bounce lightly with each motion, the small green dinosaur charm bouncing playfully across her chest. Emma’s eyes never leave Jack’s as he watches her face, her bottom lip clenched as playful noises escape past her lips. Emma collapses upon him, their bodies wet with sweat, as Jack feels himself explode inside of her in contractions of release, causing his breath to hold within his chest as he is overcome with a wonderful dizziness.
Many moments of silence pass. Looking to Emma, Jack finally asks, “Was that all right?” As quickly as the words pass his lips, he feels idiotic for asking. “Sorry, I have no idea,” he adds.
“No,” Emma protests, before continuing, “That… that was really great—wonderful. Thank you for asking.”
“Sometimes I have no idea what to say, or the right thing to say,” Jack says, shaking his head and feeling more deeply embarrassed than before.
“Who is to say that there are ever right things that have to be said?” Emma asks as she embraces Jack once more. “It is enough to just be in the moment. It doesn’t always have to be defined.”
“Spoken like a true artist,” Jack says as he smiles. This time there is no sarcasm in his statement. Before sleep comes, they make love two more times. Jack falls asleep to the light of the television, no volume, and turned to the weather channel. The next day will be mostly sunny, with a chance of storms in the evening. Early summer storms.
5
“Come on, pick up…,” Jack says to himself, cell phone in hand. Over the high tree line the sun is visible as red smear against the horizon, the morning birds are in full song and there is a chill from last night still lingering in the air. Getting the answering machine once more, he leaves a message, “Danny, it’s Jacky again. I was just calling to let you know I’m down here in Springfield. I’ll be going by the house soon. When you get this give me a call, otherwise I’ll call you when I get a hold of mom and dad. Talk to you soon.”
Jack holds on to the cell phone for a moment, thinking that he should try his parents once more before showing up, but then shoves it back into the pocket of his blue jeans. He quietly opens up the door to the hotel room, careful to not wake Emma, who is still sleeping soundly on the bed. Her arm is resting outward, nearly dangling off of the bed, her head turned away from the small shafts of morning light shining through the curtains and against her hair.
Jack pauses for a moment, watching Emma sleep and feeling extremely lucky once more. He stands there for a while, unable to do or say anything. His mind in a blank state of peace and contentment with his life, he lingers a few minutes more like a ghost in love with the sight of the living and haunting merely for the sake of memory. As he stands at the door he looks back once more, just to make sure that she really isn’t some dream that will fade away the moment he leaves her. He laughs to himself for finding it so difficult to be away from her presence. He has been with girls before, but it has never felt like this. There was never this much of a connection, usually just more awkwardness. Part of him grows afraid, because the way he feels around her makes him feel a sense of comfort he has not felt before. Afraid, because if he could care for something this much, it now means that he has something important in life that might be taken away.
Back on the road once more, Jack and Emma sit silently as the scenery passes by. The chill of morning air has disappeared as the sun grows higher in the sky, small wisps of grey clouds crowd they sky in patches.
“Do you want me to put something on the radio?” Jack asks, in an attempt to break the quiet mood that has threatened to settle.
“If you like,” Emma replies, as she looks over and smiles. “I like the sound, though, of the tires on the road.”
“When I was younger, back before my parents moved out here, we used to live close to an interstate. I remember at night in the winter, the crickets would be gone and without the trees to muffle the sound from the road all you could hear were the passing cars,” Jack says, somewhat distantly, as though lost in his own thoughts. “To this day, the sound reminds me of winter.”
“It reminds me of summer vacations, funnily enough,” Emma adds, “Back when my father was still aro
und we used to go on these vacations and he would just drive all night because he would want to get to the destination as quickly as he possibly could. So, often I would stay awake as much as possible to see the world pass by, to see the new places and things I’d never seen before. When it would get evening I would stay awake as long as possible. I’d spend hours just staring up at the sky, just watching the way that the moon would follow the car and how it lit up the road. Does it bother you, having heard it so frequently?”
“Not really,” Jack answers, “I think that it would often drift me off to sleep. Sometimes I’d lie there, though, thinking about people’s lives, the ones who passed by. Wondering where they were going or what their life was like. It always made me feel strange, somehow sad in a way.”
“Why sad?” Emma asks.
“I don’t know.”
“Do you feel sad in winter?” she asks, but then quickly continues without allowing a moment for reply, “I think that most people do. It is probably something with there being so much nighttime. I mean, nighttime has its own kind of magic going on, but too much of it and people just get depressed. You know, in parts of Alaska it’s dark for entire months.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard that before,” he replies as he nods. “You know, at the same place it has entire months of daylight as well where it only gets dark for about thirty minutes or so.”
“Now that I would like to see,” she says as she nods reassuringly to herself. She eyes herself in the side mirror, and removes a stray curl of blonde hair from her line of sight. The wind almost playfully blows the hair back into her eyes. “Although, perhaps I’d take it for granted. One thing about the world is that everything happens in time, so that, you know, in summer you appreciate the winter, and in the winter you long for summer days. I wonder if having it daylight for twenty-three hours would make you pray for darkness, and in the dark months you’d go crazy without the light.”
“I hear a lot of people commit suicide in the dark months,” he adds, “I read that somewhere, I believe.”
“That is really sad,” she says, sounding sad. “Why don’t they just move?”
“I…,” he continues, trying to think of a logical answer, “I have no idea.”
“Seems kind of silly when you think of it that way, doesn’t it?” she asks, rubbing her chin with her thumb and making an amusing face.
He begins to laugh, not for the thought, yet the conversation as a whole. “How did we get on this?”
“I just like to talk,” she whispers, sounding dejected for a moment. “After all, this is why I came along. Well, this and the great sex.”
“Don’t make me turn this car back around,” he lightheartedly threatens.
Emma begins to giggle and feigns a slap against Jack’s cheek. Although he was joking, the thought is still in his mind. He feels that it would not be a bad idea at all to make one more trip back to the old Red Rose Motel. However, he does have important things to attend to, things that he could not forget about, despite the small emotions in his mind that told him perhaps it was best if he did. Hopefully, there would be time for other things afterwards, after everything was settled with his parents. As his mind wanders back to the issue at hand, he begins to grow saddened once more. The thought of bad grades and failure crowd into his mind once more as Jack quickly diverts his mind to the night before to counteract it.
“What’s wrong?” Emma asks, noting the change in Jack’s demeanor.
“Oh,” he replies, thinking for a moment that he should tell Emma about his problems but quickly changing his mind. He does not want to concern her, and he keeps quiet partially out of fear that she will think less of him. “We’re just almost there.”
The road ahead curves, rounding a hill and leading into a thick forest. Soon they are surrounded by tall trees as the light from the sky filters through the emerald leaves in shafts of brilliant yellow. Beneath them, the smooth road turns to rock. The air is filled with the sound of crunching gravel, and the occasional pebble shoots up and dings against the undercarriage of the car, resulting in a series of infrequent, loud pops.
Jack reduces his speed. Clouds of dust dance in their wake, obscuring the view in the rearview mirror to that of swirling waves of dust. They slowly drive past a small wooden building, an old shop with a white-painted sign that is worn down and discolored to a dingy brown. The front door is boarded up and the windows are cracked and broken in many spots.
“That was an old bait shop,” Jack says as he points out to the decrepit old building. “When I was a kid they shut the place down because they found an old body buried behind the wall in the basement.”
“Really?” Emma asks, sounding more shocked than truly curious.
“Yep, my dad has all the old newspaper clippings stored about his office. He was really into the history of the place around here.”
They continue on, rounding another blind corner. Jack slows the car down once more and points to an old house that is nearly overcome by weeds that are growing out of control. “This old guy that used to live here was the one that found the body—he died the following month after that and no one has moved in here since.”
“Does anyone live out here?” she asks, watching as the old house slowly passed from view. “Other than your parents, that is?”
“There’s an elderly couple down the other way. I don’t really know them well or anything; they keep to themselves,” he continues with a gesture toward the crossroad ahead. “There are two guys that live together in a small home out farther in the woods that way. I’ve met them a few times. Good people—hunters, I think. A couple live in a trailer on a small plot of land by the lake—real friendly, kind of hippies, or something like that. Other than that, really there is not much here. Used to be a fishing retreat, though, back before my family lived here, but then I guess everyone just started going to the Lake of the Ozarks and this place was forgotten over time. My parents like it that way, though. I mean, it is a pain driving all the way to Springfield for groceries and such, but they like the quiet.”
“I don’t know if I could live this far from town,” Emma quietly says as she stares off into the woods that seem to go on endlessly outside of her window. “I mean, I love nature, and being outdoors, and I love the woods. I think, though, that like twenty minutes from a bigger town or city is perfect.”
“When I was little we lived in a city—well, it was small but still considered itself a city,” Jack says as he rounds another corner, speeding up a bit. “I liked it pretty well. It was a small place, really small. That was back before my dad got his first book published. I think, though, if I hadn’t had Danny around to hang out with I’d’ve probably gone nuts out here.”
“I don’t have any brothers or sisters,” Emma adds, her gaze still fixed on the passing woods. “I think I would have liked to, though.”
The surrounding trees eventually give way to a clearing, a field of tall prairie grass in a valley surrounded by the high hills of the Ozarks on all sides. A small stream flows through the field and a tall oak stands beside a large three-story farmhouse off in the distance, complete with a barn and old metal windmill, spinning against the north-eastern wind.
“Is that it?” Emma asks.
Jack nods silently.
The Fox and the Farmhouse
The heat of summer is all around. The trees dance pleasantly in the far distance, distorted by both air and sun. The smell of cooked meat wafts through the open door, left ajar in the hopes of catching a stray breeze.
The scent of cooked chicken fills the red fox’s nostrils, leading him to abandon the safety of the fields and draw closer to the farmhouse. Ears trained for the threat of danger, the fox skulks past a row of bushes, nearing the weather-worn stone steps to the door. A dog barks in the distance as the fox freezes like a stone statue. The short yap echoes across the high grass and dissipates into the trees as all falls silent once more.
The promise of a full stomach leads the fox to slip into the hous
e. A few precarious steps onto the smooth kitchen floor, which feels as slick as ice, and the fox is even closer now to his goal. Mouth watering, the smell has pulled the fox in like the song of a siren. The fox can imagine the taste of meat. It consumes all other thought.
Outside, the old metal windmill comes to life, creaking slowly and releasing a shrill-like sustaining whine. The wind has come. The blades quicken. The trees groan and greet the wind with a change in tempo of their erratic dance. Flowers of wheat wave like crashing ocean waves. The entire valley fills with the new air; it greets the visitor in a flurry of activity.
The door shuts abruptly will a loud bang and a heavy tension fills kitchen, it is as if the house itself is holding in one giant breath. The fox swiftly heads for the door, finding only that he has become trapped.
6
Jack reaches his hand out to Emma. The mid-morning sun has become muted in pale grey clouds. The sound of thunder echoes through the Ozark valley as the air smells heavy with the promise of rain. The house is a short walk away, standing ominously and casting dark shadows. The paint, once a warm red, has peeled away from the siding. The door is scratched and its white paint is chipped, and the flakes have settled upon the stone steps like old snow. A small group of seedling oak trees grow from the second-story gutter which also shows signs of rust from neglect. The house seems still, like a beast lying in wait.
Window in the Earth Trilogy Page 29
