The Line That Binds

by J. M. Miller

  “I’m fine, thanks,” I replied.

  Carson stood and took his dish to the washer also. “I should get going, too. I won’t be late tonight. Gavin, finish any homework you need to do at a reasonable hour, please? LJ,” he said, turning his attention to her. “Not too late, okay?”

  “Yeah,” she agreed.

  “It was nice meeting you, Ben. Keep me posted about the dirt bike stuff. If anyone needs me, send a text.”

  “Later, Dad,” Gavin said as Carson left the kitchen. “Ben, you said you liked first-person shooters, right? Do you want to play sometime? Maybe later?” he asked after we heard the front door shut.

  LJ walked through the kitchen to the mudroom.

  “Maybe, if I survive.” I grimaced and Gavin laughed.

  “I heard that,” she called before emerging with garden trash bags, plastic gloves, and water bottles.

  “Holy shit! I was joking. Are you planning on hacking me into a million pieces?” I backed slowly into the front foyer.

  “No way! Too messy,” she said with a wink, handing the gloves to me. “Let me know if you need anything, Gav.”

  “What? You aren’t helping us?” I asked Gavin, knowing he wouldn’t take part after the disinterest he showed yesterday. I noticed a little frown pull on LJ’s lips.

  “I’m okay with a history lesson, but cleaning? Not a chance.”

  LJ smiled beside me, contented by his answer.

  “Right, maybe later then,” I said, grinning at LJ. She obviously didn’t want him helping, either.

  He nodded and retreated upstairs, leaving us to stare at each other outside the kitchen. I held the gloves and waved my hand out for her to lead the way. I knew exactly where to go, but it was nice to admire her from behind. I’d be crazy if I didn’t take advantage of that view.

  “How are you feeling today?” I asked, unable to ignore the question that had consumed my entire morning any longer.

  “I’m okay, thanks. No headaches and I slept pretty well last night. Oh, and I cleaned your shirt. I’ll have to grab it before you leave.”

  It was a relief to hear that she was okay. Maybe there was nothing to worry about after all. Maybe it was coincidental. “You can keep the shirt,” I said. She glanced at me sideways. “I have plenty of work shirts, and you can use it for cleaning or whatever helps keep the maids out of business.”

  She smirked and flipped the light switch at the top of the basement stairs. We both walked down into the invisible barrier of mustiness identical to the one that occupied my basement. There weren’t any leaks in the concrete walls or floors, yet the dampness was so thick it felt as if the entire basement had been a swimming pool moments ago.

  “Yeah, it’s exactly the same as I remember. Except for the rows of paintings,” I said, touching the canvases at the base of the stairs.

  She weaved around some boxes and scanned the room with her eyes, taking in the enormity of the job. “I don’t think I brought enough bags.”

  We both laughed a little and I followed her to the right corner of the room. “Do you know what you want to do with all of this stuff?”

  “I thought I’d keep most of the larger pieces, for now. I can always sell things later,” she said, sliding a chair to the corner. Her hair fell into her face so she gathered it into a ponytail, exposing her slender neck. “I think it’s probably best to start in one corner and work in one direction.”

  “Smart,” I agreed, trying my hardest not to stare at her. She wore another tank top today with cut-off jeans that had frayed white threads hanging down, grazing her thighs. I was glad summer hadn’t relented to the fall temps just yet. I loved girls in hoodies, but it was much more fun to look at a girl wearing short shorts and tank tops.

  I took a cue from her and started moving larger items into the corner, relocating boxes of paperwork in a separate area to go through later. We stacked more chairs into the corner beside a small bookcase, a coat rack, and two thin hall tables that had been upstairs during Janine’s will reading a few months ago.

  “This woman really liked furniture,” LJ huffed after we moved a scuffed-up night stand.

  “I guess she didn’t want to sell stuff, or maybe it was for comfort; it all could’ve helped bring back her memories,” I said, handing one of the water bottles to her and taking a swig from the other. “How much did you really know about her?”

  LJ’s eyes searched the room, senselessly. “Honestly, not much. I remember her sending us birthday cards. We didn’t have many visits. I’ve looked at her photos upstairs and I think I look more like her than my mom.”

  “You do kind of look like her, especially your eyes and hair,” I said, sliding a couple of boxes against the wall.

  “Was she nice?”

  “Yes,” I replied. “When my grandfather needed help the most, she was there. She set him up with the job and the house. She was kind to all of her employees, and she helped Pop take care of me. Her Alzheimer’s started before I moved here, but the last few years were the worst.”

  “I can’t even imagine how that must’ve been for all of you.” She shook her head and turned away from me, looking into a box of holiday décor. She picked up a bow and ran her fingers over its red velvet loops. “I don’t know why my mom didn’t get along with her. If I had to guess though, it was about money. My mom never cared about many people. She’d stomp on anyone to get what she wanted, and later, whatever she needed to maintain normalcy.”

  “I remember seeing her at the will reading,” I admitted, recalling how smashed Rina and her boyfriend had been. “Was she the reason you moved here?”

  “That was the first time we’d seen her in a year, and we haven’t seen her since. And yes, she’s one of the reasons we moved here.” She shook her head and raised a single corner of her mouth. “I don’t really want to talk about her.”

  “Okay,” I agreed, not wanting to press her.

  “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  She tossed the bow back into the box then pushed it aside, separating it from the file boxes. “You’ve lived here since you were ten. Are you happy about owning a piece of it?”

  “It’s home. I’m not sure I deserve it, but I’m honored that Janine trusted me to own part of this place. I have to be honest though.” I paused to catch her eye. “We were all worried about you moving here. I probably shouldn’t have told you that, actually.”

  “Worried? Why?”

  I pulled a hand to the side of my head and ran it over my hair, considering the truth I was about to spill. “You are nothing like I thought you’d be, LJ. I think I need to apologize, really. I, and a lot of others here, thought you’d move in and tear this place apart. I’m not sure if that’s the best way to say it.”

  “Tear it apart?”

  “Sell it to an outsider or fire everyone,” I admitted, shifting my eyes. “We were upset that Janine left this place to you since you weren’t really close to her.”

  “I can understand that,” she responded just above a whisper. “And now?”

  “I’m not sure. I was amped up and ready for there to be some big fight or something, and now I’m … readjusting.”

  “Okay,” she chuckled.

  “Seriously, you aren’t who I expected. I was waiting for you to start power trippin’ right away, like some …” I paused to think of the nicest way to phrase “spoiled bitch.”

  “Got it. I’m not as spoiled as you thought I’d be,” she said in understanding.

  “Yeah, pretty much,” I agreed. “I’m sorry I misjudged you.”

  She started digging through an open box without speaking again so I moved another decoration box over to her stack. After a minute, she said, “You nailed your first opinion.” I stopped to watch her as she held a glass ballerina ornament in her hand. “I was spoiled. I might still be, though I think I’m in transition, or maybe recovery. When Dad landed his old job, and the money added up, we got everything we wanted. That’s also when things fe
ll apart. I can honestly say that money couldn’t buy our happiness. Money did buy temporary substitutions of course: Mom partied and used, Dad worked to stay away, Gavin played, and I bought a lot of crap and hung out with a group that I never quite fit into. It sufficed even though we all still felt the weight of the real issues. Now that it’s all gone, I can admit I never really cared about any of the material stuff. That might make me a hypocrite, but it’s the truth. I’ve pretended for so long that I’m not sure who I really am.

  “I can’t believe I just said all of that,” she admitted. “I’ve never told anyone else.” She shook her head and looked to the boxes again, hiding her face from me.

  I wasn’t sure how to respond. She’d just dumped a great deal of her life on me and it made me feel like an even bigger tool for my early judgment. “I’m sorry,” I uttered quietly.

  “No, forget it. I’m the one who’s sorry. I’ll take my idiot card for sharing all of that mess with you. I understand if you want to take off. You shouldn’t have to listen to me whine about life when you’re voluntarily cleaning my basement.”

  “This is voluntary?” I asked with a sly grin. Her eyes relaxed and she smiled at my joke, but didn’t respond. “It’s no big deal,” I reassured her. “I wouldn’t actually call that an idiot card. Maybe a whiney-baby card, but not an idiot card.”

  She gasped with a skewed smile then threw a Christmas wreath at my head. I ducked before it hit, but I wasn’t prepared for the huge plastic star that immediately followed. The point hit the side of my face and sandwiched my cheek against my arch bar. A metallic taste spread over my tongue. “Shit,” I said, gripping my face.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hit your jaw,” she said, rushing over to me.

  “You threw it at my face. Where did you think it would hit me?” I responded flatly.

  She stammered with her thoughts for a second until I started laughing. “You jerk! That didn’t even hurt, did it?”

  “Oh, it hurt,” I said and spit some blood on the floor before taking a swig of water. “Is it too much to want a little sympathy for my pain and suffering?”

  She huffed at the blood spot on the floor. “You’re cleaning that up. And as for sympathy, don’t expect any more.”

  “No more? It really got me good,” I said, rubbing my jaw as I stared into her green eyes. She was standing in front of me, close enough to touch, with her face tilted up because of our height difference.

  “Quit exaggerating. The blood on the floor is barely pink. Let me see,” she said and pulled my hand from my face. Her touch shocked me. I was expecting her to blow me off, not fall for my crap.

  “Oh, you’re bleeding outside too,” she said. Her thin eyebrows scrunched together in a cute, worried expression.

  “What? For real?” I asked, grabbing my face again.

  “No, sucka,” she said, then pushed my chest and walked away. “Can we get back to work now, little baby? I guess you get your whiney-baby card too.” She slid another box to the corner.

  “Oh, just wait,” I threatened openly, though I had no idea what I was threatening. Her actions left me stupefied, and they woke a kind of attraction I hadn’t felt in a while.

  We got back to work silently, moving the bigger items back toward the corner, trying our best to leave access paths. When LJ went upstairs to use the bathroom an hour later, I took advantage of the time and searched through a box of papers. It was packed with ledgers and binders full of receipts and papers dated from the nineties. I heard rumbles and a couple of loud lightening crashes outside before LJ returned.

  “It’s raining,” she said, walking down the stairs with two more bottles of water.

  “It’s supposed to be a pretty big storm. The grounds need it,” I replied, taking a water bottle from her. “Thanks.”

  “You sure you don’t want anything to eat? You can eat solid foods, right?”

  “I’m fine, thanks. And yes, I can pretty much eat everything. It’ll take a while longer to adjust to steaks and meats again, though,” I replied, taking another drink of water. I looked around at the small dent we made and shook my head. “There’s no way we’re finishing this today, or next month.”

  “Yeah,” she admitted, pulling a brown leather-bound ledger out of the box by her feet. She flipped it open. “Check this out. It’s dated eighteen sixty-three.”

  I stepped to her side and read over her shoulder. “Charles Stockton.” I reached my hand over her arm and pointed to the name on the inner cover of the ledger. “His parents had the event house built for his wedding.” I’d seen the ledger briefly before. It held some history that would interest her, but nothing useful to my search.

  She scanned the fluent script, flipping a few pages while I remained close. Even though I’d seen it before, I couldn’t bring myself to move away from her. I liked the excitement building between us, and the subtle warmth from being so close to her body. I snuck glances of her face while she looked at the book, studying the way her eyes creased with concentration and how she folded her lips together as she read silently.

  She tilted the book toward one of the basement’s exposed bulbs for better light. She could’ve moved a few feet away for a better position, but she didn’t. Her choice to remain close to me led my thoughts somewhere sublime, forcing me to take a deep breath in order to calm down. Deep breathing was quickly becoming essential around her.

  “Do you stick out your tongue when you color?” I asked, watching her lips press together again.

  She turned her head to look at me over her shoulder. “What? No! Why?”

  “Nothing,” I said, smiling.

  “Shut up!” she spat, though she smiled when her eyes settled back on the ledger. “Check out this picture.” She supported the ledger on her forearm and unfolded a picture that was tucked into the page’s crease.

  It was black and white with blurred details. A dark-haired man wore a tidy-looking pant suit and a dainty woman stood beside him. She was wearing a wedding dress with tight sleeves that widened out over her elbows. Its bottom front section held three overlapping detailed layers, the lowest of which bunched on the ground covering her feet. The couple stood before the gazebo behind the event house with the well visible in the background.

  LJ flipped the picture over. September 5, 1864 was scrawled in smudged ink, along with the names Charles and Sarah Stockton.

  “This has to be around seven or eight generations ago,” LJ whispered to herself, flipping the picture back to front. “Look, the well looks new. I wonder if it was built for their wedding, too.” She tucked the picture back into the crease and flipped another few pages. A loose page stuck out from another fold. It was yellowed with tattered edges. The heading read Pennsylvania Volunteers 177th Regiment and was dated November 1862.

  LJ skimmed the lines with her finger, absorbing its history through the feel of the old paper. “This is the Civil War. Here, his name,” she said, running her finger over the ink. “Charles Stockton. It says that he volunteered for duty and served nine months.”

  I reached over her arm again and leaned my face above her shoulder for a better view. I pointed to the words a couple of lines beneath her fingers. “Mustered out August seventh, eighteen sixty-three. He was discharged the year before he was married,” I added. “I knew he was in the war, but I never knew the dates.”

  LJ shifted her head to the side and backed into my chest. I inhaled the subtle almond scent that always surrounded her. I had no idea if it was lotion or shampoo, but it was freaking amazing, and it made me want to sniff her like some creep.

  She didn’t react to our bodies touching; her back simply pulled slowly away. I, however, tensed up from the contact. If she noticed, she probably thought I was a chump. I was actually starting to think that of myself because of my dilemma. It was an internal battle between good and bad, right or wrong. My body wanted the good, to be closer, but I hesitated because of the potentially bad situation. Even if the curse was all some made-up story, I
still didn’t know what her final plans were for the property. She could be playing coy only to rip this place apart as soon as she signed the deed. For some reason, though, I wanted to believe that wouldn’t happen.

  When I backed into Ben’s chest, I almost fainted. That small amount of contact felt so right, and in that moment I wanted more. I wanted him to wrap his arms around me and pull me closer. It was a nice thought; unfortunately, even with my purposeful delay, he gave no reaction suggesting it was possible. I pulled my body away from his as smoothly as I could without shaking, which was hard to do since my knees were as unsteady as my emotions had been lately.

  I flipped another few pages as lightning crashed outside, rattling the ground and the house’s walls. Desert storms never scared me. They’d roll through the Vegas area fast, dumping loads of rain. Their biggest threat was flooding underpasses and trap idiotic drivers too busy to consider flood zones. They traveled too rapidly to be much of a hindrance. This storm didn’t feel the same.

  I tried to concentrate on the ledger and not on Ben, who remained right behind me, looking over my shoulder like he was as interested in the book as I wanted to be. His breath rolled down my neck, sending shivers down to my toes. I flipped to the back of the book, ignoring the notes about farming budgets and the records of labor, crops, and tools. When I pulled the back of the ledger up to close it, another picture popped out of a slit cut into its lining.

  Ben reached over me again, grabbing the black-and-white picture before I had the chance. He slipped it out of the hiding spot and laid it on the book between my hands. A young woman, maybe in her early twenties, stood beside a stone house. The layout looked exactly like Ben’s house, with large squared stones outlining the kitchen windows, unlike the tall, slim borders of the main house or the mansion.

  She wore a basic-patterned dress, with no evidence of a corset to cinch her curvy waist. Her hair was pulled back, her big eyes gazed adoringly at the camera, and her hands folded together at her waist. Ben flipped the picture over. The handwritten date was smudged, yet legible, stating September 1863. The name Dahlia Wentz was printed beside the date.