Falling in Deep Collection Box Set

by Pauline Creeden

  Deacon’s Place is bustling at this time of day: patrons racing in and out, filling office orders, grabbing a to-go cup before work, yelling greetings to Connor behind the bar. I see Deacon now over Connor’s right shoulder… he has always been there. A large picture of a laughing man that looks so much like his brother, but it is obviously not Connor. Deacon’s hair was buzzed on the sides and long on top, like he normally styled his locks in a mohawk, but had chosen to let the dark strands flop naturally the day of the portrait. There is a dimple, just a single dimple, in his left cheek. It is charming and a bit sad that a man that looks that vibrant in a photograph is gone forever.

  Vera and I play-bicker back and forth like ancient friends until we are at the front of the undulating horde of coffee-enthusiasts.

  “So I’m getting tea, of course, but what are you having, Ocean Eyes?”

  “Um…” Craning my neck to look up at the options, I realize that I’ve only ever gotten drip coffee with butter here. “I think I’ll have—”

  “Dark roast drip with butter?” Connor has taken the place of the slight-framed Korean college student who normally works the cash register. I think his name is… Peter? Or maybe Patrick? It’s terrible that I don’t remember his name; we’ve exchanged words and money at least a hundred times.

  “Hi, Connor.” Shyness takes over my body suddenly; I am so nervous seeing him. It has never been this way before. But now that we’ve really talked, I really know him.

  I can feel the butterflies, long dead in my belly from years with Truman, come alive. They are flapping their wings slow, slow, and then they are beating them so fast that I worry I will lift off of the ground. They are dying to fly instead of just dying.

  “Lena.” He doesn’t say hello, just my name. And God, my name on his lips is more than I can hope for. It sounds so right.

  A throat clears beside me. I’ve forgotten Vera. “Oh, umm, Connor, this is Vera. She’s my… well, she’s my friend.” I pause, debating whether to add the last bit that is on the tip of my tongue. “She was my nurse in the hospital.”

  “Hospital?”

  We didn’t talk about that yesterday—my stint in the hospital, the fact that I was crazy, and then I was sane, and then I was a daydreamer.

  “Oh, it was no big deal, really. Lena just had a little scare.” Vera saves me, stretching her hand across the counter top.

  Connor takes it and shakes it firmly. I like that. Truman has what people call a dead-fish handshake: he grasps a person’s hand loosely and gives it one or two weak shakes. It’s like he wants to distance himself from other people—especially those lower on the social pecking order.

  He didn’t used to be that way.

  He used to be the kind of guy that would befriend the charity case—even if the friendship was partly formed to piss off his parents.

  “Lena?” My name, his voice. Hearing it twice is almost too much.

  “You’re daydreaming again, Ocean Eyes.” Vera pokes me in the side playfully and I start, then blush furiously.

  “Ocean Eyes?” Connor’s smile stretches wider and I feel that if it widens any more, then he will break his face.

  I refocus on the hustle and bustle around me, the line of people behind me waiting on coffee, and I nervous-giggle. I can feel the dark pink of my cheeks deepening to a fire engine red. “I’m sorry. I’m always doing that.”

  “Ocean Eyes…” The too-wide, Cheshire cat smile is gone and Connor is staring at me—into me, rather, the way he had yesterday, when he was searching for the soul beneath the skin. “That will do just fine.”

  “I don’t understand.” And I don’t.

  “From the first day I saw you, your eyes have stuck with me. Deacon would have loved them. You couldn’t drag him out of the ocean.”

  “Deacon would have loved them?” I don’t want Deacon to love them; I want Connor to love them. I want Connor to love…

  “I…” Connor’s face turns bright red and I know it matches my own now. “How about that coffee?”

  “Yeah, how about y’all order so we can get our coffee too. That would just be fabulous.” A woman behind us is obviously irritated and I can’t blame her. I feel even worse when two other voices pipe up in agreement. “Yeah, come on!” and “I’m late for a meeting here.”

  “Earl Grey with honey, please. And Ocean Eyes here will have her usual.” Vera tries to pay, but Connor waves her off and says that our drinks are on the house today. I can hear more grumbles behind us. People aren’t too pleased that we have held up the line and now, on top of that, we are getting our beverages for free.

  I grunt as Vera pushes me toward the second counter where the finished orders are placed. “Hey! I wanted something different today!”

  “No you didn’t, and you know it.” Vera is teasing me, but her words are hurtful for some reason. Maybe I did want something different. Maybe I just needed to take the chance, have a cappuccino or one of those cold, blended coffees. She didn’t give me the chance, though.

  Yes, yes, she did give me the chance. I stood there like an idiot. I stared at the menu. The moment passed.

  It is just coffee. It isn’t the end of the world. I’m just being stupid.

  “You like him.” Vera and I are sitting in the last booth on the left. She is sipping her tea while I sit motionless, my hands wrapped around the hot black mug.

  “I’m engaged to Truman.”

  “You’re evading.”

  “I don’t want to like him.”

  “But you do.”

  I nod and then finally bring the mug to my lips. The coffee is strong and Connor has been heavy-handed with the butter.

  “Have you been okay?”

  “I’m not back in the hospital yet, so sure, I’ve been okay.”

  “We aren’t going to have much of a conversation if you’re intentionally obtuse, Ocean Eyes.”

  “You’ll think I’m crazy, Vera. How could you not… you’ve only just met me, really…”

  “How long we’ve known each other has nothing to do with anything.”

  My shoulders slump and I let my body slide against the booth until I am a head shorter than I should be. Vera has to tilt her head and look down to meet my reluctant gaze. “I think I’m changing.”

  “Changing how? Changing as in ‘hey, everyone! I’m ready to leave the man I don’t love anymore and begin a new life!’ or ‘hey, everyone! I’ve decided to have an operation. Call me Larry’?”

  I’ve just taken another gulp of coffee and I have to fight back a laugh so I do not spit all over Vera. I can do nothing to stop the stream of dark roast that expels from my nostrils, though. Vera quickly hands me a napkin and I glance around the room, embarrassed, as I wipe away the wetness on my face. Only Connor is staring at me, and when he sees that I have seen him staring he averts his gaze and his skin goes back to being a pinkish-red hue. It’s like our states of embarrassment are linked.

  “When I was in that tub—the reason I ended up in the hospital on psych watch—I stayed under the water because when I was under, I… well, I was someplace else and I was something else.”

  “Someplace else and something else. That’s not vague at all.” She’s not laughing at me and she isn’t looking at me like I’m a delusional fool. Instead, she seems slightly irritated that I’ve gone from being obtuse to being ambiguous. It’s a lateral shift when she was hoping for some upward progress.

  Taking a deep breath and expelling it loudly, I decide to just tell her everything. What’s the worst that can happen? Another few weeks or months seeing a head shrink?

  So we sit there, me with my coffee and Vera with her tea, and we let the hot beverages become icy cold, because we are both so enthralled with the tall tale of how I am becoming a mermaid. At points, even I think I am crazy and not a daydreamer. I can only imagine what she is thinking.

  Chapter 15

  Running Water

  “It’s not that I don’t believe you, Ocean Eyes.” Vera’s words are stunt
ed, as if she hates saying them, but knows that she has to. “I do. I promise you that I do. But at the heart of this is an issue you can’t keep avoiding.”

  At first my feelings flare, a little bit of anger mixed with a little bit of guilt. I know what the issue is that I am avoiding. Of course I know what it is. The little voice in my head has been prodding me for weeks, well before meeting this insightful woman in the hospital. “I know what you’re going to say, Vera. You don’t have to spell it—”

  She interrupts me. It’s rude and unlike her. Or I believe it is unlike her. I feel I’ve known her forever, but we’ve really only begun our friendship. “You think I’m talking about Truman, but I’m not. You’re a smart girl. I could see at the hospital that you know he’s not right for you. Only you can find the courage to leave him, though.”

  My mind jumps to and fro, wondering what other issue I am ignoring.

  Vera reaches across the table and two of her fingers delicately grasp the starfish around my neck. “This is what you’re ignoring. Whoever gave you this. Your family.”

  “Oh.” I’m stunned. I’ve tried to find my birth parents, of course I have, but time after time I’ve come up empty-handed. “Vera, I’ve looked for them, tried to find out where I come from. I was found abandoned between dunes on Tybee Island. That’s it. No one claimed me, no note, only my necklace with me. I was put into the system and that’s all she wrote.”

  “So you’ve looked and you haven’t found them. Big deal.”

  Now her words hurt me. I know pain is spreading across my face like a virus, infecting and stripping me of joy.

  Vera sees the effect her words are having and she backpedals. “No, no, sweetie. That’s not what I meant. I’m saying stop ignoring the issue: talk to someone. Have you ever been to a therapist? There’s nothing wrong with it. After Benjamin died, I needed support.”

  I slow nod, looking down at my cold coffee and thinking about what she’s said. “No, I’ve never spoken to anyone about it. I’m just another sob story. There’s nothing special about it or me. There are thousands and thousands of other orphans.”

  “It would help you, Lena. Help you cope, maybe help you grow strong enough to leave Truman and start fresh.”

  “I don’t know if I want to leave Truman,” I mumble, rotating the beautiful yet ugly engagement ring on my finger. I keep rotating it around and around, and when I stop I leave the diamond facing away from me so that I don’t have to look at it.

  Vera says nothing in response—probably because she knows I’m being obstinate just for the sake of being obstinate. After several moments have passed like a molasses flow, her mouth opens to speak, but Connor’s voice travels across the café space to us then and I am infinitely grateful for the interruption.

  “Ready for refills?”

  We both look down at our cups—they are both half-filled with cool, unappealing liquid. A greasy film has formed at the top of my coffee, the butter congealing. Normally I drink quickly, so I don’t think I’ve ever seen the aftermath of buttered coffee unfinished. It is sort of… gross.

  “Fresh?”

  Vera nods in agreement. “Can we have new ones, actually?”

  “Sure.” Connor sets about making the coffee and tea.

  I like to watch him work. He is alone in the narrow kitchen, whirling about with two Earl Grey tea bags, pats of butter, and doing a pour-over so that my coffee will be extra fresh. Vera stands up, as if to go pay and get the drinks, but I stop her and then also stand.

  “Let me get these, Vera. You were so nice coming all the way out here.” That’s not the real reason I want to get the drinks. I am grateful, of course I am, but I want to be nearer to Connor—near enough to smell the musk of grinds and steamed milk and cinnamon scents swirling about his body.

  “Alright. Thank you.” There’s an odd look on Vera’s face as she sits back down, one that confuses me, and then she laughs loudly and without a trace of shyness. “You know, I was supposed to get a drink for a girl I work with and I’ll be darned if I didn’t forget it. She even offered to write it down for me.” She laughs again, this time nearly snorting. “She’ll really think my memory is going now.”

  We both laugh. “If you think what it was, let me know. Connor can whip it up in a jiff.” She nods and smiles and I walk over to Connor. Every step feels inexplicably right.

  “Hi again.” Connor is smiling and I love it.

  “Hi.” I push a burgundy lock of hair behind my left ear. It falls back to brush my cheek almost immediately. “Thank you for doing a pour-over.”

  “The pots been on for a while now and I know you like the blend that’s less bitter.”

  “I do?”

  “Well, I’ve seen the way your nose crinkles when Pete gives you a cup that’s been on the burner for a while. You never give it back to him, though. You just keep drinking it and thank him. You could ask for a fresh cup, you know.”

  “It seems rude.”

  “To get fresh coffee when you’ve paid for fresh coffee?”

  “He’s just so nice and sometimes it’s so busy. I feel guilty asking for him to stop what he’s doing for another customer.”

  “There are two of us.”

  “You’re not always here.”

  My last statement hangs in the air between us. You’re not always here.

  “No, you’re right. I’m not.” Connor turns away from me for a moment, and when he faces me once again he places the coffee and tea on the counter between us—these are in to-go cups instead of ceramic mugs, and I realize that Vera probably should go; she has a job waiting. I do not.

  “How much?” I begin to take off the flimsy backpack to dig out my wallet.

  “On the house.”

  “You already gave us free drinks, Connor. Please let me pay.”

  “Nope.”

  I can see by the set expression on his face that he will not let me pay no matter what I say. “Okay… thank you so much.” I grasp a disposable cup in each hand and begin to turn around. The café is so empty now—too quiet. Turning back to fully face Connor, I study him for a split second.

  His black hair tie is around his wrist as he runs his fingers through his hair, taming a few wayward strands before pulling the long brown locks into another low ponytail.

  “Is it okay if I hang around a bit after Vera leaves?” There’s no reason to stay, other than just being in this shop, in proximity to Connor and his smile.

  He looks confused, like I’ve asked him the strangest of questions. “Of course you can. This is a café, not a metered parking space, Lena. I actually enjoy when my customers want to hang around.”

  “Okay.” Feeling embarrassed, I walk back to Vera and hand her the tea, but I do not sit down. “Should you get back to work? I feel like I’m keeping you from something.”

  Looking down at her wristwatch, Vera’s eyes go wide. “Good heavens, it’s after nine already. I’m so sorry, Lena, but yes, I have to get back to work. I’m surprised they haven’t paged me a dozen times already. We’ve several green nurses and they can’t seem to tell a urinal from a blood pressure cuff.” We both laugh at that. For my part, I am imagining a nurse wondering aloud why she can’t get a BP reading from the metal urinal that her patient’s elbow is resting in.

  “That could be awkward.”

  We laugh again; it is a unified chorus this time, pleasing and musical. I do not want her to leave. Yet she must: work is beckoning.

  “I’m so glad you found me, Vera.”

  “Me too, Ocean Eyes.” She fumbles about in her purse after speaking; when her hand reappears, it is holding a ballpoint pen. “Give me that napkin, will you?”

  I retrieve the crumpled white napkin for her dutifully and watch as she scribbles something down.

  “Here’s my house phone and pager numbers.”

  “I still can’t believe you don’t have a cell.”

  Vera smiles at me. “I don’t ever want to be that available. Does that make sense? I feel lik
e the more ‘connected’ people get, the more disconnected they get.”

  Thinking about the smartphone in my bag—the way Truman had admonished me for not taking it with me yesterday, the way he can check my location by GPS—I have to agree with her. And I crave a life where I can get rid of everything that keeps me “connected.”

  I walk Vera to the door of the café and I nearly cry hugging her goodbye. We make plans to see each other again, but for some reason I feel in my heart that I should memorize her face now rather than banking on that again.

  My disposable coffee cup is empty. I’ve drunk it quickly now that I don’t have the distraction of conversation. Connor has disappeared and Pete is manning the counter. There are no other patrons in the coffee shop. I feel … lost. And I need to pee.

  Standing up, I chuck the cream-and-brown paper cup into the trash bin and move to the restroom. The signs designating male and female are the usual sort—except both the skirted woman and the pants-clad man are holding steaming cups of joe. Entering the single-occupant bathroom, I realize that I’ve never actually been in here. I’ve never stayed long enough to need a trip to the ladies’ room.

  It’s handsomely designed in the same rusty colors as the coffee shop; vintage signs and framed pictures decorate the walls. The whole space smells like brewing coffee. I almost like it better than the tasteful, monochromatic palette of the condo bathrooms. It’s rustic and warming rather than austere, clean, and proper.

  Washing my hands after I’ve relieved myself, I study my face in the mirror. The freckles are nearly at their peak. They’ve spread across my nose and cheeks, and dozens dance across my forehead and down my neck. As I watch them, my vision blurs and the dots seem to move and multiply. I blink quickly and my eyes see clearly again. Still, I splash water on my face, wanting to make sure I’ve banished the illusion completely.

  But where the water hits my skin, another illusion forms.

  A blue-green shimmer replaces the peachy, freckled pale. I splash more water on my face frantically. It just causes the blue-green to spread, reaching up toward my hairline and down toward my collarbone, until I am like the Wicked Witch of the West. I cannot breathe. I want to scream for help, but I can barely gasp out a whisper. “Help.”