"Okay, Belle. Hormones back under control. Married. Old. Three new gray hairs this morning. And most importantly, he wanted a job...not you."
What a strange day already and the store hadn't even opened yet. First the dream, and then the visit from a young boy toy.
Bizarre.
As I turned the sign in the front door to ‘Open’, I tried to shake off the encounter with Landon and focused on my work. However, not thinking about him was nearly impossible. Every time I looked out the front window, there he was walking by the store in his search for work. Each time he passed, he glanced in and waved.
What was he trying to do to me?
I told myself that I had obviously made the right decision in not hiring him.
The rest of the day dragged by and three o'clock came and went...with no sign of Hannah. When she was thirty minutes late, I finally broke down and called her.
No answer.
I called again. I wouldn’t give up until she answered.
Hannah finally picked up the third time I called.
"Where are you?" I had demanded before she had a chance to say anything.
"Don't be mad."
Oh great. Conversations that started out with Hannah saying, “Don't be mad” never went well.
"Don't be mad? Just because you flake out on me at least once a week?” I didn't want to hear any excuses out of her. "Simple answer, Hannah. Are you coming or not?"
"Not," she responded after a beat. "I got wrapped up in this Tarot reading for a friend. She really needs my help. You see there's this guy—"
"What about me, Hannah? I’m your sister. I need your help."
"I know...but..."
"No buts!” I hung up on her.
What was I going to do?
I contemplated calling Derek and telling him that I wasn't going to be home in time for dinner, but never picked up the phone. The memory of being beaten with a pair of bowling shoes stopped me short of dialing the number.
I was certain I was totally out of options when Landon walked past the window for the umpteenth time that day.
I gave no thoughts to my actions. Desperate times, and all that. I ran over and threw open the door.
"You found a job yet?" I asked.
He turned, looked at me, and then he shook his head.
I motioned for him to come inside.
The phone was ringing and I knew immediately who it was.
"Hello?"
"Where the hell are you?" Derek screamed into the earpiece and I held the phone an inch from my ear.
"Derek, I'm leaving right now. I'm sorry. I got tied up with a customer."
Click.
No ‘goodbye’ or ‘see you soon’. My husband, as was his custom, simply hung up on me.
"Everything okay?" Landon asked, looking around the store, knowing very well that I was lying to whoever was on the phone. There were no customers.
"Oh sure," I lied again. "That was just my charming husband.” I tried to smile, but he wasn't convinced. "Listen, looks like I need help this afternoon after all. I have to get home and my sister didn't show up for work. Could we call this a trial run?"
Landon nodded enthusiastically. "Sure."
I tossed him the keys. "We close at six and open at nine."
"Okay."
"Just leave the cash in the register. It’ll be fine overnight. I’ve only made one sale today and that was a credit card. If people are so destitute that they to break in here for forty measly dollars, they need it more than I do, and are welcome."
"Okay," he said again.
“Well, okay." I tried to figure out if I had missed anything. "My cell phone number is in the drawer behind the counter — you know, in case of fire, flood, or blood."
"Got it. I’ll only call if I need to. You'd better go. Your husband didn't sound happy."
"He rarely is," I responded honestly. "Thanks, Landon. See you tomorrow."
"Thank you, Belle." He smiled at me. We seriously needed to discuss his smiling.
I flew out the front door and jogged to my car parked in the back, pausing for a moment when I realized what I had just done. I had been so desperate, that I had just left my bookstore in the hands of a complete stranger. He could rob me blind. He could steal everything and leave me with nothing.
I shook off the paranoia, telling myself that it would be fine as I ran to my car.
I raced home, opting for the faster, five-minute route over my normal slower routine, not knowing what to expect from Derek. I walked in, prepared for the worst, but the house was quiet. I walked cautiously down the hall and met Derek coming out of the bathroom. Steam from the shower billowed out from behind him and he had a towel wrapped around his waist.
"There you are," he stated a little too brightly.
"Here I am.”
“Jesus, I don’t know why I even let you work. You’re never around when I need you.”
I ignored his comment, having heard different variations of the same sentiment nearly every day of our marriage. “What do you want for dinner?"
"I'm not really hungry...just yet. First things first." He pushed me in through the bedroom doorway. "I passed out a little too early last night, but I remember promising you a good time."
Derek backed me up against the bed and I fell back against the mattress. He removed his towel as if he unwrapped a Christmas present. I knew he expected me to swoon. A half-hearted smile was all I could manage.
He pulled off my clothes while I lay there, limp, and let him do what he had to.
“God, you really are disgusting,” he whispered in my ear as he climbed on top of me. He closed his eyes and got on with it. My only wish was that he would be quick. He thrust himself inside of me and began his one and only move: the jackhammer — as if the harder and more violently he drove himself into me, the more pleasure there would be. However, I never felt pleasure...only relief when it was over.
Three minutes later, with the bed creaking so loud that I thought it would break in two, he let out that familiar grunt of satisfaction and rolled off me. He pinched my bottom hard and exclaimed, "Thanks babe. That was awesome!"
Awesome? Were we just in the same bed?
Instead of contradicting him, I smiled weakly and reached for my shirt.
"I'm going to eat at the bowling alley tonight. You got the night off." My husband leaned down and in a rare move, kissed me hard on the mouth before reaching for his pants and shirt. “Maybe you should think about taking a fuckin’ walk around the block while I’m gone…or a dozen.” He smirked at me and dressed quickly, leaving me sitting on the bed in a daze.
I found my pants in a pile on the floor beside me, pulled them on, and lay back on the mattress and closed my eyes.
It was odd that the first image I had when I was alone that night was of Landon.
I didn’t think about how I shouldn't have left him in charge of the store, or even how he had a particular effect on my hormones. I thought about his eyes.
Sure, he tried to disguise it, but I saw the haunted loneliness he didn't want anyone else to see. Losing his mom at such a young age must have been hard, but he had to have had a dad, possibly brothers and sisters.
Landon was young, just graduated from college, and had been living in southern California. Why did he come home to tee-tiny Cannon Beach when the entire world was in front of him?
I sat up and reached into the bottom drawer of my dresser, pulled out a notebook and a pen. I curled up on my bed and for the first time in years, simply started writing.
Chapter Three
The next morning, I stood in the one, and only, improvement Derek had made to our home since we moved in — the walk-in closet. I was actually thinking about what I was going to wear. I couldn't remember a time when this had ever been an issue for me. Jeans and a t-shirt. A simple combination had worked for me for years.
Why, on this particular morning, was I suddenly taking issue with the fact that my closet
was filled with different variations of drab and boring?
I knew it wasn't rational, or even in the same realm as reasonable, but I just didn't want to wear the same old thing, when I knew I was going to see Landon today. He was someone new, something interesting in my quiet, boring life, and I didn't want to look the part of the dull, drab bookstore owner. For the first time, in a very long time, I simply wanted to look nice. What was so wrong with that? Who cared what my reason was?
I dragged in a deep, nervous breath, willing my jumpy nerves to calm down. Instantaneous paranoia and anxiety were a side effect of living a life where simply clearing my throat the wrong way could get me punched or kicked or...whatever. I learned to live with it.
"Breathe, Belle," I told myself. "You’re okay. You’re all alone."
At the end of my quest for something to wear, I had chosen a pair of jeans that I normally only wore to go out on special occasions; like the nights when Hannah dragged me out to a bar or some party on the beach. The jeans had funky stitching on the pockets and down each pant leg. Derek hated them, which made them even more desirable for that very reason. He always made fun of me whenever I wore them, telling me that I looked like the stupid, old lady who was trying to be a kid again.
But I liked them.
Maybe Landon would like them too.
Maybe Landon would like them?
"Where has your brain gone?" I scolded myself.
I knew I was on a slippery slope. One step in the wrong direction and I could slip down into the pile of crap that waited for me at the bottom.
I ignored the sense of foreboding and assessed my reflection in the mirror. I turned sideways and looked carefully at my appearance.
Did I look stupid?
I knew what Derek would say. “Your ass is gigantic and those pants only make it look bigger.”
I considered changing my clothes. I had to admit, it had been several years since I wanted to look nice for someone, anyone for that matter. While I knew it was more than a little ridiculous, I refused to judge myself for it, at least not before my morning cup of coffee. It was just a pair of jeans for crying out loud! I stopped the armchair psychoanalysis, purposefully threw on the same amount of make-up I normally did on a workday and spent only an extra ten minutes making sure my hair was done — but not overdone.
When I felt as if I’d gotten myself to look as good as I was going to get, I glanced at the clock next to my bed and realized that the only thing my self-doubt had gotten me this morning was ten minutes late to work. I quickly made the bed, cleaned up anything that looked out of place in the room, and raced out the door.
As the door clicked shut behind me, I realized that I forgot my coffee and Derek’s breakfast dishes, still waiting on the table.
On the drive to the bookstore, I’m not sure why — maybe it was the stupid, old lady comment — but I began to wonder how old Landon was.
I told myself that it was a reasonable curiosity and I had every right to wonder.
He told me yesterday that he’d just graduated from college. If it were a Bachelor's degree, he'd be about twenty-two, old enough to drink at least. A Master's would mean twenty-four or twenty-five, right? And if he took any time off, he would be older than that. He could be almost thirty. Did he look that old?
"How old are you?" I blurted out when we met on the street in front of the store. He stood up against the front door, holding two cups of coffee. Landon still wore jeans with flip-flops, and this time, a sweatshirt that looked worn and soft enough to curl up in on a cold night. Oh, and the baseball cap...backwards. I was going to need to talk to him about his wardrobe choices. Beach bum maybe, but he was still sexy as hell.
"Good morning, Belle," he said with a smile and held out one of the cups to me. "I took a chance. If you don't like coffee, don't drink it on my account."
I took the cup from him with a nod that he needed to interpret as, ‘Thank you’.
Afraid of another outburst that would make me look like even more of an idiot, I was not going to allow myself to speak for at least five minutes or until I got my mouth under control...whichever came later.
Landon retrieved the key from his pocket, then he extended his hand — and the key — to me, but I waved him off. I wasn’t sure I could be trusted to handle keys, as my hands were shaking. Why had I suddenly become nervous? Landon stepped up and unlocked the front door. I took a sip of my coffee and watched him closely. The muscles in his arms were toned and they contracted with even his slightest movement. Everything about him made my stomach tighten and my body warmed in response.
“And, to answer your question, I'm almost twenty-five," he responded over his shoulder, as I followed him inside the store.
Okay, twenty-five wasn't that bad. I did the math. Only thirteen years. Okay, maybe that meant I was thirteen when he was born. That he was in kindergarten, when I graduated high school. And when I was twenty-one he was how old? Eight? That couldn't be right, could it?
Oh, this was dreadfully bad.
"I couldn't get much money for the computer or cash register because they are, well, ancient. But the pawn shop said they'd give me a couple hundred for the antique counter if I could find a way to get it down there."
I whirled around, gripped with panic, and for just a split second did a visual inventory of the store when he began to chuckle.
I looked back at him and said, "Ha ha," annoyed with myself for falling for it.
"Tell me that it didn't cross your mind?"
"No!" I said too quickly, but then admitted, "Well...yes."
"Figures. Everything’s still here. I did exactly as you instructed."
"Thanks. And, um...I'm sorry," I said finally. "That was really rude of me...earlier, I mean...about your age."
Landon just shrugged. "It's okay. Logical question I guess."
"But I shouldn't just shout out questions at you like that. Like I'm interrogating you. You could probably report me to someone — it has to be an illegal question."
He smiled at me and shrugged. “But if you got arrested, who would pay me for my two hours of hard labor yesterday?”
“That’s a very good point.” I paused for just a moment. "Thanks for the coffee," I added. He watched my mouth as I drank the coffee and it made me a little nervous.
His face turned red and he turned away when I noticed him.
"No problem," he answered, swallowing thickly. "And... you can ask me anything."
I thought of all the things I wanted to ask him and decided to settle for something safe.
"You said you’re staying with your dad for the summer."
"Yup."
"So you grew up around here?"
"Yeah. Right here in good ol' Cannon Beach."
"Did you go to Seaside High School?"
He nodded. "Why? Did you?"
I nodded back at him.
"I wonder why we’ve never met," he said. “This town isn’t so big.”
"Probably because I was closer to your dad's graduating class than yours."
"I doubt it. You're what? Like thirty?"
I nearly spit my coffee out across the room. The liquid burned the inside of my nose and made my eyes water.
"A little higher, Landon," I responded and coughed self-consciously.
"Well, you don't look it. That's what matters, right?"
I shrugged, and suddenly felt I’d just aged fifty years. "Where did you go to college?" I asked, wanting to change the subject.
"USC," he answered. "I just got my Master's in Architecture from there."
"That's amazing. Quite an accomplishment."
"It's only amazing if I knew what I wanted to do with it." He lifted the baseball cap from his head and ran a quick hand over the mess of curls before dropping it back down.
"Don't architects usually want to build things?"
"That is generally the plan. I guess I'm defective.”
"I don't think that not knowing what you want to do is defective. If it is, you�
�re not unlike most people. Present company included."
At my admission, he smiled at me...again. My knees had gone weak. He needed to stop doing that. I fully realized that my life was already a big enough of a mess. If this continued, I was going to add ‘longing for something I couldn't have’ to the list. Just great.
"Is something wrong?" he asked, watching me.
"Oh, no. Everything is fine.”
"Well..." He paused and then offered, "Thanks again for yesterday. It was kinda fun. But I should probably get going."
He placed the key on the counter and turned around to look at me. He just stood there, waiting for me to say something. I got another good look at his eyes.
The haunted look was all-too familiar. I started to wonder if maybe I could relate to Landon in more ways than either of us knew.
And oh boy, I was a sucker for lost and lonely souls.
"I think I'd like you to stay...for the day and see how things go."
Before I could think it all the way through, the words were out of my mouth. Then, when I saw the look on his face, I was glad I said it.
His face lit up. "Sure! Absolutely!
"I’ll pay you in cash for the first little while…at the end of each week. If things work out, I’ll need to get more information. Okay?”
He nodded in understanding. “Where would you like me to start?"
I looked around the immaculate store. "Now, you understand that this is just a trial run? I can't guarantee anything."
"Of course. Of course," he replied, still smiling.
That look was why I never went to the pound. Because if I did, I would certainly adopt all the sad, lonely dogs and take them all home.
I needed to get this boy busy doing something so he would stop standing there looking adorable and I would stop wanting to take him home.
"Okay, I got a big shipment of books in, but I haven’t had a chance to get them all out here. We’ll start with the stack of books from the latest winner of one of those weight loss reality shows. Let me show you where they are in the back. I'll show you how to inventory them and then you can clear a spot in Diet & Exercise and put them there."
Turning Point Page 4
