Beneath the Scars

by Melanie Moreland

  “You’re writing,” Karen’s voice was surprised but pleased.

  “I am.”

  “A new story?”

  I shut the book, putting the cap back on the pen, tracing my finger over the spine. “My story.”

  She sat beside me. “Your story?”

  “I can’t stop thinking, Karen. The words play continuously in my head. I have to get them out.”

  “So you’re writing about you and Zachary?”

  “Yes. I thought—”

  “Tell me,” she encouraged, sounding concerned.

  “I thought if I wrote them out—let all my feelings and thoughts flow into these books—these journals he gave me—maybe I could find some peace. Figure out a way of moving forward.”

  “Makes sense.”

  I looked over her shoulder. “Can we go into town later?”

  Her eyebrows flew up. “Sure. Why?”

  “I want to take Tempest to Ashley and Jonathon. I want to see if they know someone who can fix it.”

  “Why?”

  “It means something to me. It has from the second I saw it. I need to have it repaired.”

  “Megan—”

  I held up my hand. “Don’t say it. I want it repaired for me.”

  “Okay, then, we’ll go into town later. Coffee and toast first, though.”

  Leaning forward, I squeezed her hands. “Sounds good.”

  Ashley was horrified went she saw the damage to the painting, but knew a professional restorer who could repair it. It would never be whole again—the same way Zachary would never be whole. It could be repaired and to the unknowing eye, look fine, but it would never be the same—undamaged. The symmetry was almost ironic, and not lost on any of us. She told me she had a quick email from Zachary stating he would be out of touch for the foreseeable future and not to expect any new work. She shook her head as she told me he must’ve also canceled his email account since her reply bounced back. “He isn’t answering his cell phone, either,” she informed me. “His voice mail says messages would be checked infrequently. Mrs. Cooper might have other information since she looks after his house.”

  The news saddened me further, but I wasn’t surprised. I hated that he was closing the door on the few people who truly cared for him, and wasn’t listening to anyone who was trying to reach out. I also knew if Mrs. Cooper had more information, she would respect Zachary’s privacy and not give it to me.

  I was surprised to see how empty the back gallery was, and she explained they had removed Zachary’s paintings with all the reporters around. “Zachary would hate the thought of people buying them to resell, or use as part of the stories that will come out. We’ll hang them back up when it all dies down.” She squeezed my hand. “It will die down, Megan. Especially with him gone.”

  I nodded, masking my anger. He shouldn’t have had to go anywhere. Cliff’s Edge, this small, laid-back town was his home, but because of me, because of Jared, he had left.

  A small voice in my head whispered he shouldn’t have run. He should have given me a chance and believed in me, in us, more. Ignoring the pain those thoughts caused, I thanked Ashley and hurried across the street where Karen was picking up a few things. I kept my head down, hoping no reporters had returned and recognized me. I didn’t want to experience that again.

  Karen was ready, so we headed back to her place, with plans to watch a movie and an early night. “I am tired,” I admitted, when she commented on my appearance, gazing at me from her chair.

  “Will you sleep tonight?”

  My eyes drifted to my journal. “Yeah, I think I might.”

  She tilted her head. “You sound clearer this afternoon—better. You still look like shit, but you sound more like you.”

  “I think I found my path.”

  “Writing your story?”

  “Yes. I made a decision I want to talk to you about.”

  “Sure.”

  “You mentioned with the big job Chris is now on, and how busy the salon is, you were afraid this place would sit empty most of the next few months.”

  She nodded.

  “Would you consider letting me stay on here for a while? I’ll pay rent, of course.”

  “What about your place in Boston?”

  “I’ll sublet it.”

  “Are you…waiting for him?”

  “No.” I closed my eyes as I admitted the truth. “He isn’t coming back.”

  I shifted in my chair as I tried to explain. “Aside from you, there isn’t anything in Boston for me now, and I like it here. I don’t have a job to go back to; I spoke with Ashley earlier and she’s willing to hire me for some hours during the next while. I can write, work, and find my feet.” I shook my head. “The way I planned to do when I got here, before…Zachary.”

  “Are you writing that story for you or to publish?”

  “No, it’s for me. Only me. Maybe, though, once it’s out of my head, I can find more words and write again.”

  “Any plot bunnies up there?”

  “Maybe.” I smiled at her.

  “I have to go back to Boston.”

  “I know.”

  She pursed her lips, studying me. “Will you be okay here alone, Megan? Will you fall apart when I leave?”

  “No, I’m done falling apart. I need to move on.”

  “Can you?”

  I shrugged. “I have no choice, do I? No one can do it for me, so I have to.”

  “You’ll have to share the place on occasion when we can make it down.”

  “I know. I’m good with that.”

  “You know, one of the girls at the salon was looking for a place. She broke up with her boyfriend and literally left everything behind. She’d probably take most of your stuff, if you wanted. The rest you can bring here or store at our place. I can ask her, if you want me to?”

  “That would be great.”

  She stood up. “Okay. I’m going to call Chris and tell him I’m coming home tomorrow.” She hesitated. “If you need me you’ll call, right? Or if you can’t stand being here alone, you’ll come stay with us?”

  Warmth flooded my chest at her words. “You’re such a good friend.”

  “Takes one to know one.”

  She left the room and I smiled sadly. I would miss her, but it was time. She needed to get back to her life and I needed to find mine. I wasn’t sure if this move was permanent for me, but for now, it was where I wanted to be. I was under no illusion that Zachary would reappear at any time, seeking me out, yet I was loath to leave this place.

  Maybe once I finished our story. Maybe once I exorcized the pain and made peace with what happened I’d be able to move forward and find my direction.

  It must have happened for a reason. I refused to believe what Zachary and I went through, what we shared, how he started to open up and accept he was worthy of being loved, was for nothing.

  I only had to figure out how to find the reason, accept it, and move on with my life.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  I stopped tracking the passage of time. The minutes became hours, morphing into days, and three weeks later, I had filled four of my journals. The world around me ceased to exist when I picked up my pen and relived the past months, starting with the events that led up to me coming to Cliff’s Edge and my too brief time with Zachary. Moments I’d forgotten, small flashes of his smile, tender words from his full lips, even fiery explosions of his eyes came back to me as I wrote. Sweet, quiet seconds and dark, angry moments, were all carefully recorded in brutal honesty. My tears often fell onto the pages as I wrote feverishly, gripped in some memory, wanting, needing to get the words out of my head and onto the paper. Every day, I prayed today would be the day the pain would lessen. One more sentence, one more memory aired, would ease the ache that was never-ending. It was a constant reminder of a part of my life that was so intense, fraught with land mines and pain, yet, in so many ways, the happiest I’d ever been.

  Karen checked on me often, making sure I was
n’t losing myself in my writing or wallowing in tears. Dixie and I walked the beach every day, some days even succeeding in pretending the house on the bluff was only that: another empty house on the beach. After a few days, she stopped running toward the stairs looking for Elliott. I never made it as close as the stairs before I had to turn back, my chest tightening, my legs starting to shake. I convinced myself I had stopped waiting for Zachary to appear; if my eyes drifted toward the house, it was only by accident. Chris would be pleased to know I was keeping an eye on Zachary’s house. I even looked at the Smith’s house on occasion. I saw Mrs. Cooper in town when I drove in for supplies and a few times I waved at Mr. Cooper when I saw him checking out both vacant properties.

  I ate the food Karen insisted on bringing with her on visits, even though I had no appetite. Everything tasted like ash in my mouth, but I chewed and swallowed, thankful for her concern. I smiled and nodded when she asked if I was all right, hoping she wouldn’t delve too hard, or stay too long. Her salon was busy, so she rarely spent the night, usually only coming down for a day. I listened to her stories and laughed when I was expected to, so she would believe I was doing better. I walked every day and went into town when I needed to. I chatted to Ashley, smiled at Jonathon. I was pleasant and friendly to the people at the pharmacy and café. I slept, although it never relieved my exhaustion, and functioned, being sure to keep the pain hidden unless I was alone and my pen was in hand. Then it leaked out of me, drop by drop as the ink and tears flowed, filling the pages.

  Most of the time I felt like a walking corpse: weary, only existing, barely able to make it from one day to the next, but still, I pushed on. Some days, I even managed to convince myself I was fine. Other days I admitted I wasn’t, but I knew one day I would be. There were moments of sudden anger when I allowed myself to rage at Jared, the situation, and even Zachary. I cursed his lack of faith; how easy it seemed to be to cast my love and me aside. To walk away from me—from us—without question, not looking back, locking my memory from his heart. I wondered if he ever, in the deepest, darkest moment of the night, questioned his decision to leave, or if I ever crossed his mind. If he missed me at all the way I missed him. I wanted to know if his chest ever ached with agony, so strong he wanted it to burst open, hoping the poison would leach out and cease destroying him little by little. Then, guilt would seep back in, and my anger would dissolve. He ran away from his life because of me. I brought him pain and regret. It was my fault his simple existence was shattered.

  It was far easier to remain angry at Jared.

  Karen was upset over the fact I’d still done nothing in regards to the situation I was in. In truth, I had no idea what to do. I knew I was hiding from my problems, yet I couldn’t figure out the next step; most of the time I couldn’t find it in me to care. Jared had my book; he had destroyed any chance of my claims being credible by throwing Zachary to the proverbial wolves and pointing the finger of blame toward me. He had withdrawn his offer of money, and now I had no clue what to do next; even Bill was flummoxed. His last email stated we needed to sit tight for a while and see what happened next.

  I sighed, scrubbing my face in the early morning light. The last journal was open; its pages spread, the lines empty, waiting for my words. For the first time, my mind was as blank as the paper I was looking at. The other journals all contained our story—the unexpected beginning and the tumultuous middle. This one would contain our end. My mind went over and over all the things I had missed those final days—things that were so obvious now. Zachary’s constant disbelief, which I should have paid more attention to at the time, instead of assuming it would ease off the longer we were together. I never really accepted the fact our time could be limited. I should have made sure he knew, without a doubt, how much I cared for him. I thought of his overreaction to the pictures on my laptop, which caused the seeds of doubt to be planted in his head. Seeds Jared liberally watered and fed, so they bloomed strong and fierce when he encountered Zachary that day in the gallery. Maybe if we’d been even more strident in our own honesty, we could have withstood Jared’s poison.

  I thought of the dark sedan with the tinted windows that flew past me on the highway when I was returning after the last terrible meeting with Jared. I remembered muttering about impatient drivers and assholes behind the wheel as it sped by. I saw a similar car parked on the street, but never once gave it a second thought or even assumed it might be the same one. I never even considered the fact Jared had overheard enough of my conversation to know where I was staying or that he would follow me. I thought I had fooled him, when in fact, he had fooled me. Again.

  The receipt I let carelessly blow away. He’d been right there, watching. For all I knew, he’d been in the gallery listening to me while I was talking to Ashley. He picked up the piece of paper and instantly knew the Z D A on the paintings in the gallery and the Zachary on the paper were the same person I mentioned to Bill. For someone like him, smart at research, desperate to silence me, it was all he needed. I had no idea if he stayed in town or went back to Boston and returned, but he had pictures from the day we’d been in town which he used to convince Zachary he was telling the truth. I knew he’d been to the beach at least once, but hadn’t approached the house, or if he had, dismissed it quickly, knowing it was too open and he’d be seen. In town he could blend in, though, and he did it well; even making sure Mrs. Cooper thought he was a friend.

  A long shiver ran through me as I picked up my pen, not sure I’d be able to handle writing all this out, but knowing I had to. As painful as it was, the story deserved the same honesty at the end as the beginning. This part wouldn’t fill the journal—there would be pages empty at the end.

  Pages I wondered if I would ever fill or if they would remain as empty as the hollow in my chest.

  I filled my lungs with oxygen, exhaling fast. My breath flew over the pages, teasing the edges of the thick stock. The deep red of the satin bookmark fluttered with the air, and I tucked it farther into the book.

  I pressed the pen to the paper and began.

  Hours later, the opening of the back door startled me and my head snapped up. Night had fallen outside; standing in the shadow of the doorway were Chris and Karen. I was so deep into writing, I hadn’t even heard the car arrive. They both looked serious and a rush of dread filled me, my heartbeat speeding up as fear shot through me.

  Karen sat down on the coffee table and I reached out, my hand shaking. “What?” I begged her. “Did something…my parents?” My voice trailed off in a whimper when she shook her head. “Zachary?”

  Her hand wrapped around mine. “No, honey. No, I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to frighten you like that.”

  Chris sat beside her. “It’s Jared.”

  I shut my eyes, fighting panic. What had he done now? What more did I have to lose?

  “Tell me.”

  “Megan,” Chris began, “look at me, please.”

  I opened my eyes, surprised at the calm gaze that met mine. I relaxed a little.

  “You need to come to Boston with us.”

  “Why?”

  “There was a fire at Jared’s house. It was basically destroyed.”

  I frowned at him, unsure what this had to do with me. “Was he, um, hurt?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t understand.” Why did he want me to go to Boston?

  “In the chaos of the fire and the aftermath, his desk was overturned.” Chris paused, glancing at Karen. She squeezed my hand to get my attention.

  “Do you remember his desk, Megan?”

  I nodded. “Yes. It was an old oak one with lots of drawers. Jared said it was so big it had been in the house since it was built. You couldn’t get it out of the room. He didn’t let anyone touch it.”

  Chris smirked. “Well, they did more than touch it. When they flipped it to get to the wall, searching for hotspots, they triggered some mechanism and a secret compartment opened up.”

  “Secret compartment?”

  Ka
ren leaned forward. “It had manuscripts in it, Megan.”

  “I’m sorry—manuscripts? What manuscripts?”

  “Stolen manuscripts. Your book was in there—the original manuscript you penned.”

  “My book?” I echoed in disbelief.

  “Yes. It’s over, Megan. Jared’s been lying all this time.”

  Those were the words I’d wanted to hear all along. “He admitted it?” I whispered, unable to believe what I was hearing.

  “He couldn’t deny it. The concrete evidence was right there.”

  A memory stirred as I looked at Karen. Zachary stating he thought Jared was “either very clever or he’d done this before and knew all the loopholes.” He’d been right all along.

  “There were other books?”

  “His entire series. He stole all of it.”

  “What?” I gasped. “The whole series?”

  “Bill will explain everything to you. We need you to come back to Boston with us and see him. Jared’s lawyer and publishers, or ex-publishers, want to meet with you.”

  “Why didn’t you call? I could have driven myself in.”

  “We didn’t know how you’d react,” Karen admitted. “Bill did email you yesterday, but you didn’t respond.”

  “Oh.” I looked over to the counter where my laptop sat. “I forgot to plug it in. You were worried. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. We decided to come out and get you.”

  I smiled at my friends. I was lucky to have them in my life and I knew I needed their support right now, perhaps more than ever. “Thank you.”

  Bill smiled as he handed me a glass of water. I turned back to the window, taking in the view from his office high over the city, staring as the city bustled and teamed below me. It was so different from the vast expanse of water I was now used to. Surrounded by massive buildings and noise; cars and people moved fast, hustling to their destinations. When outside, I found the noise too much to handle. I stifled a sigh as the longing for the open space of Cliff’s Edge swept through me. I inhaled a deep gulp of air, frowning as the scent of Bill’s coffee hit me, and I had to swallow my sudden nausea. My nerves were certainly getting to me today. I sipped the cool liquid gratefully and rubbed my weary eyes.