Burning for You (Blackwater)

by Lila Veen

  “I’m sorry,” he says, his lips twitching. “Are you alright?”

  I nod and stand up, brushing my ass off which is full of twigs and dead leaves. From my new angle, I can get a better look at him. With a twist of his features, he could be either ugly or beautiful. He has long, very black hair that is tied up in back, but has come loose in front and hits just at his pointed chin. He isn’t much taller than I am, perhaps only six feet, and I’m looking directly into his eyes which alarm me the most. If I’d only glanced, I’d say they were brown, but they are so light they almost appear to be yellow, like a wolf or something inhuman. He looks down his very long nose at me, tightening his lips into a smile.

  “I’m so sorry,” he says. “I was trying to avoid you on the path, but everywhere I tried to step, you stepped that way too.”

  “Sorry,” I mutter, embarrassed. “I was having a moment.”

  “I could see that,” he says. “I’m sorry, I’m Gabriel Locke,” he continues, extending his hand. I offer him my slightly muddy one. “Call me Gabe.”

  “Leah Holt,” I say back. Gabe’s eyes narrow slightly, but he continues to smile. There is something odd about his voice that I can’t place. It’s not unpleasant, but he has an unusual way of speaking that I’ve never really encountered before. Maybe he’s not originally from Michigan.

  “Nice to meet you, Leah,” he tells me. “I rarely see runners in these woods back here. That’s why I use them.”

  “They’re fairly accessible to my house,” I tell him.

  “You’re Ursula’s daughter?” Gabe asks. “I’ve never met you before.”

  “I haven’t lived in Blackwater in over ten years,” I say. “I just moved back yesterday. Literally.”

  Gabe nods. “That explains it. I know everyone in Blackwater.”

  “Apparently not everyone,” I say. His words give me a slightly weird feeling, but he laughs at my comment. “Well, it was nice meeting you-“

  “Wait,” Gabe says. “I’m sorry if we got off to a rough start, but I must have bumped into you for a reason.” What kind of reason would that be? My thoughts drift to my earlier conversation with Isabel about catalysts, but I dismiss it as soon as it enters my mind. Gabe is attractive, but at least I can breathe. Gabe clears his throat. “Are you free for dinner tonight?”

  “Wait, what?” I say. “Um, I mean, sure, yeah, I guess so.” A less than gracious acceptance, but so far everything about Gabe has caught me off guard.

  “Great,” Gabe says. “I look forward to it. Can I pick you up at your house at seven?”

  “Six is better,” I say. “I need to find a job in the morning.”

  “Six it is,” Gabe says, grinning. He is really handsome when he smiles, and I wonder if I should tell him I’m still married, but hell, I decide to take things slowly and live a little. Maybe it’s time for some fun. Gabe gives my shoulder a small squeeze. “See you then,” he says, and takes off running past me.

  My heart is pounding by the time I reach the house again. I ran three miles and it’s been a while since I’ve run through the woods and not on nicely paved, flat sidewalks and roads. The hills posed a challenge, and my entire body is going to feel it tomorrow.

  My mother is home, but I don’t see her when I get back. Her car is in the garage, which is the way I come back in since I don’t have a key. Isabel gave me the entrance code before she left. I go straight to the fridge and get a glass of water for myself and chug the whole thing down while standing in the middle of the kitchen.

  “Oh, there you are,” I hear my mother’s voice say behind me, making me choke on my glass of water. “Where did you go?”

  “For a run,” I tell her, still coughing. “It was nice to run through the woods again.” She nods, not saying anything. I’ve always been a runner since high school, when I was on the track team. I’ve never been interested in any other team sports and enjoy the solitude and the ability to be inside of my own head while running. Heidi runs too, but her reasons are more like a race to burn off a meal consisting of four frozen grapes and a slice of bread. “How was your lunch with Renee?”

  My mother smiles at me. “Renee is doing well. She’s excited to be a grandmother soon.” Her own ice blue eyes narrow in my direction. “It must be nice to be preparing for grandchildren.”

  “Eleanor is pregnant?” I blurt out, choking on my water again. “Is she married?”

  Another smile and a nod. “She’s married to Andrew Laurent. You remember Andrew, don’t you?”

  I freeze. How could I forget Drew? The night before I left Blackwater I gave myself to him by climbing over his lap in the front seat of Betsey and taking him by surprise. Drew and I had dated since I was fifteen and he was seventeen. I left Blackwater still technically his girlfriend, but didn’t really ever say goodbye, and now he’s married to my former best friend. How cliché, I think.

  “Eleanor is due in two weeks,” my mother continues, keeping an eye on me, while I try not to show any emotion. “She’s as big as a house, expecting a little boy. She and Andrew have been married for almost six years now. They’ve been close as two coats of paint since you-”

  “Since I left?” I say, unable to let her keep going on. “It’s okay Mother, I understand. You take extra pains to make sure I feel as unwelcome here as I possibly can.”

  “Leah, I never tried to – “ I cut her off by walking out of the room. I need to shower and get ready for my impromptu date. “Leah!” I hear my mother shout, but I keep walking away from her.

  *

  I have no idea whether Gabe will take me someplace nice or casual, so it takes me almost an hour to get ready. I didn’t take most of my wardrobe with me but I manage to piece together a beige v-neck cashmere sweater and find a matching wool skirt in my closet which still fits me. I brought a pair of sage green tights and a pair of brown leather knee-high boots with two inch heels, both of which complement my makeshift date outfit. I pull my hair away from my face and wind it into a figure eight knot in back and put fresh eye makeup on and a touch of pale apricot lipstick. I love fall clothes more than any other season and I’m pleased with my own reflection by the time my transformation is complete. I’m pretty nervous. I haven’t been on a date since I dated Michael and that was almost five years ago. I’m not sure what to expect at all, though I’m pretty sure we won’t be coming back to my mother’s house if things get hot and heavy.

  I haven’t told my mother about Gabe, so when the doorbell rings, I breeze past her and her astonished expression and open the door. Gabe is standing there, dressed in dark jeans, a crisp white button down shirt and a black blazer. His chin length hair is slicked back from his long face, accentuating his sharp features. His eyes that looked almost yellow this afternoon, look darker and more of a calm hazel this evening. “Leah, who is it?” my mother says, coming up behind me. When she sees Gabe, she gasps and steps back. I turn and look at her, watching her back up slowly, her eyes wide and focused on Gabe.

  “Hello, Mrs. Holt,” Gabe says. “Hello Leah. Are you ready to go?”

  “Yes,” I say, turning back toward him, and then looking again at my mother. She looks almost paralyzed with fear. “Mother, are you alright?” I ask her.

  Her eyes never leave Gabe, but she shakes her head and inhales deeply. “Leah, I...don’t stay out too late,” she finally says. She turns and walks out of the hallway, up the stairs. What was that about? I roll my eyes, thinking about how her comment almost seems as though I’m a teenager under her wing once again. I shrug and put on a brown leather short riding jacket and grab my purple purse, which doesn’t match, but I’m too lazy to take everything out of it and attempt to mash it into a smaller purse.

  “Shall we go?” Gabe asks me, bending his arm, indicating I should put mine through. I comply with a smile, finding the gesture old fashioned but slightly charming. He walks me down the path toward his car, which is a white BMW sedan. He opens the passenger door for me and I step in, putting my purse down on the floor. Once
I’m seated and buckled, I look at the house and see my mother looking at us from the second story hallway window. I can’t read the expression on her face, but she doesn’t look pleased. Likely she wants me to go back to Michael, since she can’t seem to stress that enough. If I have any ties to Blackwater, like Gabe, she’ll be stuck with me, and she can’t have that. We mutually annoy each other.

  “Where are we headed?” I ask Gabe. My stomach rumbles, telling me that whatever he has planned, it had better involve food.

  “I thought we could go to dinner at Chez George on Ruby,” he says. While Emerald and Center is technically the center of Blackwater, Ruby Street is where all of the good restaurants and shops are located. I’ve never been to Chez George, but I remember my parents would go there for anniversaries and special occasions. It’s a romantic French restaurant that I would never have splurged for in my teen years on a date with Drew Laurent or with friends, but hearing Gabe say he’s taking me there makes me feel all grown up. Gabe looks at me. “Or would you rather go someplace else?”

  “Chez George sounds great,” I tell him. “I’ve never been.”

  Gabe nods. “The food is exquisite. The wine is even better. Unless, of course, you don’t drink?”

  I laugh. “Of course I drink. I grew up in Blackwater. You practically get a bottle of wine with your first birthday cake.” He laughs. Nearly everyone in Blackwater is of French descent through their mother’s or father’s or both sides of the family in some way or another. In my case, both sides are French, though Holt is not a traditional French last name. My dad once said something about changing it a few generations back due to a debt that a relative of ours owed someone with the same last name. I forget the entire story, but I always liked having a different last name than everyone else in town. For one thing, it’s pronounceable outside of Blackwater. People in Chicago tend to add “s” to words where it should be silent, like “Illinois” or “Des Plaines” . Even the grocery store called “Jewel” tends to be referred to as “da Jewels” by some people. At least I never had the trouble I would have had with a last name like “Dubois” when I was living there. I like my last name so much I kept it when I got married, despite Michael’s disapproval.

  Gabe pulls up to a parking space right in front of Chez George, which appears to be waiting for him, considering the restaurant is packed with patrons already. The outside of Chez George looks small, framed with weathered wood and the words “Chez George” in gold over the giant steamed up window, but inside, it goes on forever, packed full of tables with couples and groups. A live violinist plays in the middle of the crowded restaurant, a space cleared for him. The violinist is old and sad looking, much like the music he’s filling the crowded room with. A low hum of chatter fills the room, though it’s not uncomfortably loud.

  “Hello Melanie,” Gabe says, walking directly up to the hostess and kissing her on both cheeks. I can immediately tell she finds Gabe attractive from the way she blushes at his touch. It’s understandable, and if I didn’t come equipped with so much of my own baggage on this date, I would have ruffled a little bit over the way she touches his arm to greet him and leads him to a table without even acknowledging me. She’s a skinny, sultry blonde with a very low cut black sleeveless blouse and flowy black pants that flutter when we follow her.

  “Shall I have Louis bring a bottle of the Merlot?” Melanie asks when we are seated. Gabe nods and she smiles at him and waltzes away, her lack of hips attempting to sway.

  “Do you come here often?” I ask him jokingly. Gabe grins and nods.

  “I have a penchant for Merlot. It’s dark and deep. I’d like to think that’s how people would describe me.” He looks at me with glowing sloe eyes, which look yellow in the dark lighting again. I’m slightly flustered at his comment and the way he seems to be staring right through me, as though he can hear my thoughts. He looks dangerous.

  “I…like Merlot,” I say. I wonder what I’m doing here with him. Yesterday morning I left my husband. Today I’m on a date with someone that I don’t even know. Something about the shape of his eyes is achingly familiar, though I can’t place why.

  “Good,” Gabe says in that strange voice of his. It’s not an accent so much as the way he pronounces his words. “I hope you like escargot and beef Wellington. I always get them from here. No one makes beef Wellington like George.”

  “Oh, you know the owner?” I ask him.

  “I already told you, I know everyone in Blackwater,” he tells me. My heart begins to pound and I can’t really understand why. A waiter comes to the table with the bottle of Merlot and two glasses. He shows Gabe the bottle, and Gabe nods. The waiter pours a small amount into Gabe’s glass and lets Gabe taste it. Gabe nods and the waiter then pours me a full glass and then finishes pouring Gabe’s glass. This is all done wordlessly. I notice we don’t even have menus.

  “Are we going to order?” I ask.

  “No,” Gabe says. “We aren’t. They know what I want. I never bother wasting my time in places or with people who don’t know what I want.” I lower my eyebrows at this declaration, wondering what he could possibly mean. “Instead,” he continues, “I’ll focus on getting to know you.” He sips his glass of wine and sets it down, showing me with his eyes and his body that he’s completely focused on me. His eye contact with me never seems to break. “What brings you back to Blackwater?”

  I consider that Gabe has probably already heard something through the gossip grapevine. “I’m in the process of a divorce.” Sort of. “Actually, I left my soon-to-be-ex-husband yesterday morning and came here right after. It’s pretty fresh.”

  “Ah,” Gabe says. “I won’t ask for the sticky details. Why should I? We just met.” He laughs at this. I’m not sure if it’s supposed to be a joke or not. “Well I’m honored to be the first person with whom you celebrate your newfound liberation,” he continues. “Don’t let me drink alone.”

  “Oh, I won’t,” I say, smiling a bit and taking a large gulp of the Merlot. He’s right, I should be celebrating. I’ve been so on edge about Michael and the fact that I haven’t heard from him, I’ve forgotten to be happy about my freedom from a miserable marriage. “This is very good,” I tell Gabe.

  “It is,” he agrees. “I always get the best.” The waiter returns holding a snail plate with a large oven mitt on up to his elbow, looking slightly hilarious to me. The plate contains six holes full of delicious butter and chardonnay soaked escargot, liberally coated in garlic and herbs. I think about how if I’m going to get kissed tonight, I ought to ease up on the garlic, but if Gabe is eating it as well, then no harm, no foul. There is crusty bread to soak up the wonderful butter-wine sauce and I eat my designated three snails with relish. “It’s good to see a girl who has an appetite,” Gabe comments, looking at me over his glass. I smile.

  “My mother would argue that it’s not very feminine,” I say, “but then again, that kind of mentality caused my sister to develop anorexia.”

  “Have you seen Heidi since you came back to Blackwater?” Gabe asks me. I recall that Gabe apparently knows everyone.

  I shake my head. “I plan to call on her tomorrow and see how she is. Are you good friends with Heidi?”

  Gabe nods. “I’m very fond of your sister and her husband, Jack Bellamy,” Gabe mentions. “Jack and I are great friends. I stood up in their wedding as best man.”

  “I missed that wedding,” I say. “Then again, you knew that. Was it nice?”

  Gabe nods. “Very nice. Jane Cousineau was maid of honor, and Eleanor Dubois – now Laurent – was a bridesmaid as well. I believe you and Eleanor are around the same age?”

  “We were best friends before I left for Chicago,” I remark. And her husband was my boyfriend, I think to myself.

  Our waiter removes the snail plate and the small plates where we’ve left bread crumbs behind. My glass is refilled and I drink some more, quickly. The wine is good, and I’m deep in a conversation about some touchy subjects, two factors which tend t
o get me drunk very quickly. “The Wellington should be out shortly, Sir,” the waiter says to Gabe, touching him on the shoulder. It’s the first thing the waiter has said all night. Gabe nods and the waiter walks away.

  “So what do you do, Gabe?” I ask him. “I think it’s my turn for a question now.”

  “Certainly,” he says, smiling and crossing his arms. I notice he’s wearing gold cufflinks in the shape of an “O”. What does that stand for? “I’m in real estate.”

  “Real estate?” I ask, not expecting that answer at all. He doesn’t look like a realtor.

  “Real estate and construction,” Gabe clarifies. “My degree is in architecture.”

  “Oh, wow,” I say. “You have to be artistic to be an architect, don’t you? I can’t even draw a stick figure.”

  He laughs. “It’s a delicate combination of art and math,” he explains. “I lean more toward the planning and negotiations side of the business, though. I also travel a lot. Projects in France, Italy, Belgium and some in the states. Mostly foreign projects, though.”

  “Oh,” I say, not sure how to respond. Either he’s showing off or I’m just not used to money…or success. Being married to a call center supervisor certainly does ground a person. I’ve forgotten what people with money talk like. “Well that must be exciting,” is all I can come up with, sounding politely lame.

  Gabe nods. “I like to travel. It’s….” his voice trails off, and I see he’s looking past me at something behind me, toward the entrance. His yellow eyes are narrowed and have tightened into half-moon slits. His jaw clenches tightly. He seems so captivated that I can’t help but swivel around and see what he might be looking at.

  I catch my breath when I see who is standing at the entrance to Chez George. My heart begins to pound and my chest feels like it might explode. The strange stirring within me is back.

  It’s Ash Lavanne, my catalyst.

  Chapter 5