Forgiven (Ruined)

by Rachel Hanna

  And into the stark silence after that, the sound of water birds and people talking, music coming from somewhere, an ice cream truck playing polkas. Reed gives a wholly false smile at Kellan and says to me, "So, you'll be fine. The rest of those meetings go like that, you have nothing to worry about." He leans down and I stretch my head up, cheek proffered, which I think is what he was aiming for anyway. He kisses my cheek, chaste enough from anyone's point of view, but even as he lets go of my arm Kellan has taken the other arm, and is drawing me into an embrace, a hello kiss on my lips.

  Men.

  I don't even get a chance to ask Reed what he came down to Charleston for. Couldn't really just have been for the meeting.

  Could it?

  * * *

  "So how was your day?" I've learned since Bruce started pushing Kellan to jump right back into the swim of life, get a job, get moving, to ask casually. How was your day? Not, Did you find a job? So I ask as we walk up to the house together. Bruce's house (it will always be Bruce's house, not even "my parents' house" to me) is big and white, with decks where I like to sit in the mornings and watch the ocean. It's cool and surrounded by palmetto trees, shade and sun, white washed and welcoming. Mama Lita, as Kellan calls Carmelita, will be waiting for us inside, cool drinks or a light meal or whatever we want. It's more like living with your grandmother than with a maid.

  "I'm thinking of enrolling in some courses," he says, mentioning the local community college. "What I learned on the inside? Not the best degree where I got it."

  He sounds more bitter than he usually does. He lost 5 years of his life, went from 17 to nearly 23 in prison without his father visiting. Anyone else who might have visited he held at arm's length or refused to add to the visitor's list.

  It's a strange idea that prisoners can choose who to allow to visit and who to keep out. Almost reverses the identities, who's a prisoner and who isn't.

  It's not that different from what I was doing all those years. Holding everyone at bay, only allowing visiting privileges to the people who were the absolute closest to me. In the case of Bruce, I think he would have come to visit me in my self-imposed isolation if I'd given him a visitor's pass.

  "Is that what you think you want to do?" I ask as we get to the sandy bottom stairs of the whitewashed cement stairs.

  Kellan stops walking and puts both hands on my arms, just above my elbows. "I don't know what I want to do. I want to make a difference. I want to make up for what happened. I want to be happy, if that's possible." His eyes soften and he leans down and kisses me, his lips soft on mine, barely brushing. "You make me happy."

  I'm not much of a career, I think, but I don’t say it. I just wind my arms around his neck, leaning up into him, my grey tunic top dampening against his saltwater flecked torso. I rest my head against his chest and listen to his heart beating under my ear.

  We finally break apart, moving up to the house again. "I'm going to take a shower," Kellan says, leaning his surf board against the fence at the top of the stairs where Bruce will see it and nag him about it. I haven't figured out yet if Kellan is just as unaware of these actions as he would have been at 17 or if he does it to irritate his father.

  "So did you want to be totally alone for that shower?" I ask.

  "Only if I don't have any other choice," he says, squeezing my hand as we step into the house together.

  "You always have a choice," I tell him, thinking I probably mean far more than whether or not he's going to shower alone.

  * * *

  The bathroom off Kellan's bedroom is amazing. Huge, with heated towel bars, so very necessary in South Carolina, after all. Stone tile floor, marble countertops, double sink. An enormous mirror spans the sink area. The shower is the walk in kind, all dark stone tile but lit by a skylight above.

  I follow him into the spray. If I could add one feature to the shower, it would be a dual showerhead. Since there isn't, I wrap around Kellan as if I'm cold.

  The soap is slippery on my skin. His hands roam freely, bubble-covered, slick on my shoulders, my back, and around my front, pressing me back against him as he soaps my breasts and presses into me from behind. He's hard and straining against me.

  Turning in his arms, my mouth reaches up for his. We press close enough to be one person.

  For now, he's here with me. His eyes are half lidded, his mouth hotter than the water that covers us both. When we break apart, we're laughing and gasping in the spray. Catching our breath, we step out of the shower, roughly toweling each other dry.

  But as we break apart to comb hair, swipe the mist from the mirrors, tend to post-shower things, he's gone again, his eyes open but his gaze distant. When we're both finished up, shiny with lotion, combed, mostly dry, he gives me a distracted kiss and goes to his room to dress, leaving me to dash through the hallway to my own room, hoping not to run into anybody halfway there.

  I haven't had that much experience with relationships. After what happened in Seattle, I certainly wasn't dating there and by the time my mom and I moved to Charleston, I was deep into my guilt. So I'm unsure what to expect with a boyfriend of just a few weeks. Is this normal? His excitement in the shower that got me hot, slick and wanting, and then he goes and gets dressed? Or should we still be all over each other every minute we can be?

  There's not really anyone I can ask. Everybody else learned this sort of thing in high school but I only had one boyfriend there, Billy Monroe, the football team's star quarterback, who took my virginity and then talked about it all over school, and actually that was more of a one night mistake.

  It's not like Kellan and I have a normal relationship anyway. We were living together, so to speak, before we ever started dating. We were drawn to each other instantly, but some people would consider us step siblings. We're not siblings really– there's no degree of blood relation between us – but it's still an unusual relationship.

  Did seeing me walking back from school with Reed bother Kellan? Because of Reed? He knows I chose him, not Reed. He knows Reed has moved to Boston. Was he bothered, being reminded I have that second chance without the 5 years prison to deal with in the working world? He was tried as an adult – this stays on his permanent record, as they say. Kellan doesn't get to walk away like I did.

  In the end, there's nothing I can do about it right now. I have to get ready. Emmy's coming to pick me up in about an hour and we're going to a new club that just opened downtown.

  Forcing Kellan back out of my mind, I get dressed, in lightweight shimmery white pants, a bright red tank top with lace inserts and a tiny white cardigan that I don't really need but I love how it looks over the red. Emerald earrings that glint through my red-blond hair. I'm putting on my makeup when someone knocks on my bedroom door.

  "Mom?"

  "Not even close, I hope," Emmy says, peeking around the door. "Are you decent?"

  "Never."

  "Good!" She bounds in and bounces on my bed, legs out in front of her like a happy toddler. Emmy's the first friend I made at Deaton U, on my first day when I was still prepared to fight off the advances of anyone who thought they wanted to get close to me.

  I feel like I owe her a lot. She didn't give up on me when I tried to push her away. Plus she was my cameraman for the first of the forgiveness videos, going with me when we drove the five hours to Atlanta to film David Reynolds.

  "So tell me about this club!" I have to finish my face and find shoes that look awesome and allow me to dance at the same time. …OK, just shoes that look awesome.

  "Opened a couple weeks ago. Apparently very open, very loud, lot of dance floors, live sound." She shrugs. "It's a club." She's right. I'll see what it's like when we get there.

  In the mirror I can see her considering her question. I'm pretty sure what it is.

  "Kellan's really not coming with?"

  I can't tell if there's something about Kellan that makes Emmy nervous or if she just feels insecure, like Kellan coming with us to something Emmy and I planned makes her th
e fifth wheel.

  "He's really not coming with us." Didn't even mention it in the shower. Rushed off after. Something's really bothering him lately and I haven't been able to get to the bottom of it.

  Not that I've had that much time to try. Between the station and classes and more of the same, and going places with Emmy, there hasn't been a lot of time to try and pin him down.

  I need to, though. It may only be my first adult relationship, but I'm not willing to let it go without finding out what's going on.

  "He's preoccupied recently," I tell Emmy, taking one last look in the mirror. I slide ID, credit cards and money into my back pockets. Not bothering with a purse tonight. Cell into my other back pocket.

  Emmy doesn't know much about Kellan, which is strange, really, because Emmy pretty much asks what she wants to know. Where'd you go to school? How'd you end up moving here? How rich is your step dad? What happened to your real dad?

  That one I only recently told her. That one's still hard.

  I shake off the brooding thoughts that threaten. "Come on!"

  Chapter 4

  Outside the long evening is still bright. Early September, it's still hot. Emmy's wearing a short denim skirt and heels, a fluttery red top with gold thread and dolman sleeves and more makeup than I've ever seen her wear. She looks adorable.

  "You are going to love this place," she tells me as she backs wildly out of the driveway. I've ridden to Atlanta and back with Emmy driving; she's usually a bit more restrained.

  "Are we going to live long enough for me to see it?" I finish snapping on my seatbelt and grab at the panic handle above the window.

  "Relax," Emmy says. "I'm just in a good mood."

  As we pull away from the house I get a good look across the beach. Emmy does, too.

  "Isn't that Kellan?" She sounds a little doubtful. I can't tell if she's thinking we should stop and offer to take him with us or hoping I won't suggest it.

  "Yeah," I just say quietly.

  Emmy bites her lip, not accelerating away yet. "Should we – "

  I interrupt her. "Kellan's on parole. He can't go anywhere there's alcohol."

  "Oh." Her voice is tiny.

  "No!" I tell her. "It was nice of you to offer." I'm never sure if Emmy likes Kellan. She thought he was totally hot when she first met him, but his history and our relationship has made her uncomfortable.

  "He doesn't mind you going out without him?" She's glancing from me to Kellan in the rearview now, anywhere but at the road.

  "He doesn't own me," I say and, trying to get her attention back on where we're going, and back on the road, "Tell me about this club!"

  * * *

  She didn't. Having whetted my appetite, Emmy refused to tell me another thing about the club. Instead she chattered about school and work or her inability to find any thereof. If ever I wished Tabby were right and we could pay station personnel, it's now. I'd hire Emmy in a heartbeat. She was my camera operator for the first forgiveness specials and she's not only a natural, she's awesome. Emmy just has a feel for the right angles, the right shots. Hiring her would probably be some kind of nepotism, but I'd do it.

  I know Bruce's office is looking for someone to do admin work, and work with the computers, which Emmy's also good at. With her interest in business, a real estate office might be a really good opportunity, but I'm not sure I want to suggest she work for Bruce.

  Ever since Kellan was released from prison, things have been tense at home. Once I showed the entire family the video with David Reynolds saying he had forgiven Kellan for the accident, that he's remarried and moved on and he's happy. And Kellan's best friend Jake, Jake's father Bill and Jake's fiancé Bria talking about how happy Jake is, how he's become a paraplegic athlete, things started improving between Bruce and Kellan. It's still strained. There's no way that relationship could heal quickly. Bruce virtually abandoned Kellan when he was in prison and Kellan hasn't forgiven that.

  But the real strain right now is between my mother and Bruce. Mom started pushing Bruce when they learned Kellan was getting out. I know she did it because Bruce was so angry about Kellan killing that family in the accident. She was even more afraid than she had been about how he'd react if he learned I killed my father. Telling him, coming clean, interviewing my mother about her forgiving me, all of that helped get Bruce and I back on even footing and it's helped me start healing.

  But it hasn't done a thing for Mom and Bruce.

  "Earth to Willow!"

  I snap out of my daze, realizing we're here. Emmy finds a place to park. We pay our cover and go in.

  She's right – the place is unique. It's next to the water, for reasons that became obvious as soon as we go in and see the dance floor: Plexiglass over seawater, fish swimming here and there, seaweed drifting.

  "This is amazing!" I shout over the music.

  Emmy grins, nods, grabs my hand and drags me after her.

  The dance floor is packed in no time. Soon as the evening comes on, there's barely any room to stand.

  It doesn't take long for the guys to find us. Two unattached ladies will always attract the guys. For someone who spent the last four years hiding out from almost all social situations, I'm finding dance clubs are a great way to reacquaint myself with life. There's no way to have a conversation in these places, short of shouting, and nothing much worth shouting about. So it's all – well, exactly what I have here. First guy is a shaved head, cocoa skin, big dark eyes, pecs and traps and shoulders that won't quit. He's way tall, beautiful in a way that would be almost feminine if not for those muscles. Wearing a long sleeved light blue Henley, black trousers, and he can move. From where I'm dancing I can see Emmy, moving with a guy I can't quite make out, taller than her, but everyone is, dark haired, nice body, white shirt and there's not much more I can see.

  The water moving under the floor is distracting, nearly hypnotic. The beat of the music is hard and fast, the song something I don't recognize. The guy sticks around for two dances before he goes his way and I go mine.

  Over to the bar for a soda, watching the crowd for a couple minutes, catching my breath. Emmy's right, this place is fantastic and I'm able to forget just about everything, DCTV, the homework I've put off for my required math class, the one that, without Reed to help me get through it is probably going to kill me. Hello required subjects, I loathe math. I can forget about Bruce and my mother and the fact that they keep fighting even though, theoretically, things are better now between Bruce and Kellan.

  I can even, if I grit my teeth and try, forget how weird Kellan's acting. Or even that I don't really know him well enough to say if this is weird, or if the way he was when we first got together – all of a couple weeks ago – was the unusual Kellan behavior. Maybe moody, distant, snarling, uncommunicative, not there and only half sexually interested is normal.

  In which case, what do I do now?

  Yeah, this is how I planned my first year in college to go.

  And even as I'm thinking that, I'm watching the dance floor, keeping an eye on Emmy, because that's what we said we'd do for each other, check in, make sure nothing untoward happens, because we've both had more than enough of that. I find her fairly quickly in the crowd. Wearing that red and gold thread top she stands out like a dragonfly, all sparkly and gorgeous. She's dancing with a blond this time. No worries, no one's monopolizing her time or trying to drag her out of the club, and she's still grinning.

  So I go back to watching the crowd. Thinking about heading out there again. By myself if no one asks. I take another sip of my soda and lean just a little, checking out a tall dark haired guy dancing with a lithe beautiful blond, her hands on his hips possessively as they sway together, looking like they're inches away from making out right there on the dance floor.

  Freeze. And stare. Because if I'm not mistaken – and I'm not –

  That's Reed.

  * * *

  My first, and utterly absurd thought, is to avoid being seen by him. Which is totally crazy. Wh
y shouldn't Reed be here with some other girl? I've made it totally clear to him that we can't be anything other than friends. Even before I was with Kellan, every time he got close I ran away. Then once his father started blackmailing me, I got close again, and even though I wanted to be with him, even though we were sharing that hotel room while out of town at a broadcasting conference, I still ran away. It wasn't like I'd ever explained any of that.

  I'm with Kellan, I remind myself.

  It's just the weirdness of the situation. I didn't expect to run into Reed at all, especially here. If I'd thought about it, I'd have expected him to go back to Boston. He has a job there.

  He has a life there.

  But it is the weekend. He can have weekends off, right? Just like I do? I could be at the station tonight but it's been left in the hopefully capable hands of whatever rotating-in engineer is babysitting the reruns of Friends or whatever's playing right now.

  Do I really need to remind myself that I'm with Kellan? No. So if I am seeing Reed with another girl, good for him. I've let him know I'm not available. Even if my family now knows my story, all of the community doesn't. Because believe it or not, not everyone watches the college TV station. I'm sure my mother would prefer to keep the greater Charleston community in the dark about our past. Not secret, but not shouted from the rooftops, or in the society pages.

  If I cross Henry Tate Miller by showing up on the arm of his son, that won't be an option; he'll expose my history to all of Charleston.

  And, hello? I'm with Kellan now.

  It's just a surprise. That's all. I thought Reed had come up just to see me and to facilitate the meeting at the station. Maybe in my urge to push myself back into life, I took too big a step. Maybe I'm not that special after all, I think snidely to myself, and start looking for Emmy again.

  She's vanished.

  #

  For a minute my heart nearly stops beating. There's no reason for it. There's nothing that's happened in this place where it's so crowded it would be impossible for somebody to drag another person away without getting noticed. Hell, without the person being dragged being able to get help. There's no reason for me to panic.