Two Thousand Miles

by Jennifer Davis

  Although I couldn’t see him, I knew he was smiling, which made me feel slightly better. “I got some shampoo and a fresh bar of soap for you. I brought you a shirt and an old pair of my shorts. Hopefully they’ll fit.”

  “Thank you.” I was dreading having to put my dirty clothes back on.

  Mason stuck his arm just past the shower curtain and handed me the soap and shampoo. I’d never been so happy to see a bottle of Pantene in my life.

  After finishing in the shower, I towel dried my hair and dug through the linen closet again, looking for a brush. I didn’t find one. I did find a bottle of mouthwash, which I used. I put on the clothes Mason left for me, tossed my towel in the hamper, and went to the living room.

  “Feel better?”

  “Much, thank you.”

  He handed me the highball glass he’d mixed my drink in.

  “I’m gonna take a shower, too. The TV remote is on the end table. I’ll be quick,” he said as he disappeared down the hallway.

  I didn’t want to fool with trying to figure out the remote control, so I studied the contents of the entertainment center instead. Books, mostly about dealing with grief lined the top shelf. There were a few others by authors I recognized only because I’d been assigned to read their work in high school. The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemmingway and Night by Elie Wiesel had been my favorites.

  I spotted a record player opposite the television. It was old, but most of them were now. People weren’t exactly clamoring to buy record players these days. I lifted the smoke colored plastic lid and found a record inside. I pushed the large, square power button on the face, placed the needle on the record, and turned up the volume. I don’t know why I was surprised to hear Frank Sinatra piping through the speakers. I think I’d expected something Cajun or bluegrass.

  I left the music playing and sat on the floor. I opened the doors in the bottom of the cabinet and found two shelves of records. I pulled a few out and looked at them. Sammy Davis, Jr., Bobby Darin, Nat King Cole, Etta James. I got the picture. They liked music that was easy to listen to.

  For some reason, I imagined Mason’s parents sipping wine, or something on the rocks and doing crossword puzzles on opposite ends of the couch while listening to these records. I smiled at the thought.

  “I wouldn’t have figured you for a Sinatra fan,” Mason said, his now familiar scent following him into the room.

  “I hope it’s okay—” that I’m going through your things “—that I’m making myself at home.”

  “Yeah,” he smiled, and sat down next to me. “My parents used to play these records all the time. I hated it when I was a kid, but as I got older, it bothered me less. I sort of became fond of old blue eyes,” he grinned. “Dude had swag.” I laughed, but he was right.

  “What do your parents do?” I asked.

  “They’re both teachers.” And that was all he said.

  “You don’t wanna talk about your parents?”

  “I’ve already talked to you about my parents.”

  “You told me a little about them.”

  “That’s more than you’ve told me about yours. Our conversations have been pretty one-sided.”

  I took a deep breath and let the words tumble out, “My mother left when I was four. She and my father divorced when I was six. She signed over her parental rights and I haven’t seen her since. All I really know about her is what my father has told me, which isn’t much because it hurts him to talk about her. But basically, she was a free spirit who didn’t like being tied down—so to speak.”

  “I’m sorry,” Mason said.

  “It’s fine. Doesn’t bother me; it’s kind of hard to grieve the loss of something you never really had in the first place.”

  “Did your dad remarry?”

  “Once. Isobel was great, but she was too young for him. They dated five months before they married—divorced a year later. It’s mostly been me and him.”

  I was done sharing, my eyes wandered aimlessly around the room, looking for something else to talk about.

  Mason stood up and held his hand out for me. I took it and he pulled me up from the floor. “If you tell anybody about this, I’ll kill you,” he half-heartedly threatened before quickly spinning me into his arms. He dipped me within inches of the beige carpeting and pulled me back to his chest like a yo-yo on a string. He held me close, putting his left hand on the small of my back. He took my left hand in his right, extended our arms, and positioned them at about shoulder height. He stepped to his right. I followed. He took a step back; I stepped forward then back and then stepped to the side again. I followed his lead, repeating the movements.

  “You can dance,” I glowed.

  “Yeah, well, remember it’s a secret.”

  “Why does it have to be a secret?”

  “You know girls, once they find out you have a special skill they wanna make you into some kind of trick pony and I won’t dance on demand.”

  “So why show me, then?”

  Mason’s eyes searched my face. “I just felt like it,” he finally said, which was not the answer I was looking for. The song ended, and he let go of my hand, and broke away from me.

  “I’m gonna grab another drink, you want one?” I’d only taken a couple sips of the first one; the ice had watered it down by then.

  “I’ll come with you.” I grabbed my drink from the glass coffee table, and followed Mason to the kitchen.

  I poured my drink down the sink and sat my empty glass on the island beside Mason’s. His hand was gripped around the neck of the whiskey bottle.

  “How about a shot instead?” he asked.

  “Okay,” I shrugged.

  He skipped adding ice and poured an unmeasured amount into each glass—his held a touch more. We picked up our glasses and clinked them together, making a silent toast and then we turned them up. I finished my drink in two swallows. My throat burned as the liquid rolled down. The music filtering from the family room snatched my attention. It was a live version of “I love Paris.” I was concentrating on making out the lyrics when Mason put his hand on my cheek, startling me into a shiver. He acted as if he hadn’t noticed, but took his hand away.

  Suddenly nervous, I tipped the bottle of whiskey over the side of my glass, splashed in a small amount, and quickly threw it back before walking away.

  I stood at the edge of the hallway with my back to Mason, waiting. My heart pounded, breaths coming so fast I’d almost reached the point of hysteria when I felt Mason’s hands push inside my shirt, and close around my bare waist. He slid his arms around me and held on. I closed my eyes, taking in how good it felt to have him hold me. He eased me back against the wall and kissed me. It was slow and determined and filled me with the same electricity I’d felt when he kissed me in the creek.

  He moved his mouth away from mine and delicately kissed my neck as I willed myself to calm down, to breathe easier.

  “How long are you gonna be here?” he murmured. It took a moment for me to process which “here” he was talking about.

  “I don’t know,” I breathed. Instead of leaving it at that, I added nine words I would later regret. “Whenever Marion says I can go home, I guess.”

  “So, you could leave anytime then?” Mason asked, his grip on me coming undone.

  “I don’t know when.”

  “Why are you here?” he asked, letting go of me completely.

  “I kind of don’t want to talk about it right now. I’d rather get back to this,” I said and put my mouth on his. He didn’t kiss me back, so I moved my mouth from his limp lips to his neck and lightly bit him. As I ran my tongue along his jaw line, he started to come back around. Breathing harder, he kissed me again. My fingers traced along the hem of his shorts from his stomach to the dimple in his lower back. I pulled up his shirt; he raised his arms and let me lift it off of him. We went back to kissing and I managed to get out of my shirt, too. Mason took his hands from my hair and let them move down
my arms to my waist, and then over my chest, pressing me harder against the wall.

  I was dying for him to take me to bed already. We were right across the hall from his room. I was on the verge of just saying so, but he said something first. Something I never expected.

  “I think I should sleep on the couch,” Mason whispered. Huh? I’d always thought whispered words were meant to be sweet, naughty, or secretive. Not confusing.

  Mason let go of me; he picked up his shirt and vanished from the hallway, leaving me standing alone and dazed.

  “What was that?” I asked, following him.

  “What was what?” Mason said, rearranging the cushions on the couch.

  “You just left,” I said.

  “I didn’t leave, Cali girl.” He turned around, arms open. “I’m right here,” he said, trying hard not to look at my naked chest.

  “You know what I mean. What just happened? What the hell is going on with you? One minute you’re trying to be close to me, and the next you’re pulling away. You’re sort of giving me whiplash.” And I’d thought that part of our relationship was over.

  “Could you put a shirt on, please?” Mason asked, looking away.

  “Oh, I’m sorry! Are my breasts offending you?” I snapped.

  “Of course not!”

  “Then, no. What’s your problem?”

  After a few seconds of me staring angrily at him, Mason stepped closer to me, his expression serious, forcing my own to go limp.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he mumbled, touching my cheek. “You’re smart and brave and so many other things I never expected you to be. Being anywhere near you makes me crazy.” He said, pulling his shirt over my head. “You’re like a fantasy, Kat—or maybe mirage is a better word because you could disappear at any time. I’m moving to Baton Rouge in five weeks and you’re…undecided. You don’t know where you’re going to be in the fall.”

  “But I’m not undecided,” I protested. At least not when it came to Mason. He was the one thing I was sure of.

  “As much as I want to, I can’t get more involved with you than I already am. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us.”

  “Wow,” I gasped. “So, you go from being two seconds away from sleeping with me to breaking up with me. Did you plan this? Is that why you brought me home with you—to break up with me?”

  “No, I didn’t plan anything. I—” “Bullshit Mason! We’re alone in an empty house. Your parents are out of town, so you can’t tell me that the possibility of us having sex tonight didn’t cross your mind.”

  “Yeah, okay. I knew it was a possibility, but I didn’t know until a few minutes ago that you don’t know if you’re gonna still be here tomorrow. I can’t go to bed with you tonight not knowing if you’re gonna be here when I wake up. Like I said, it wouldn’t be fair. We’d only be settin’ ourselves up for heartbreak,” he said, quieter.

  “Seriously! If you didn’t want anybody’s heart to break then you shouldn’t have gotten involved with me at all! But since you did, I’m glad that you were able to decide for both of us that now—tonight—would be the best time for you to dump me. I should have listened to Bit,” I said, feeling a lump form in my throat. “You suck!” I screamed, tears starting in my eyes. “You suck and the last thing I want is to be fucking stuck here with you for the rest of the night!” I picked up my phone, slipped on my shoes and started toward the front door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Back to the Broussard’s.”

  “It’s the middle of the night. Just stay. I’ll take you back in the morning.”

  “You should have left me alone, Mason. You should have listened to your gut and left me alone,” I said, my bottom lip quivering, as tears rolled down my cheeks. I felt like an idiot for crying, but wasn’t that what people did when they were hurting?

  “Kat,” Mason said quietly. Hearing the distress in his voice stung me. I wanted to dive into his arms and let him hold me, but I knew if I did, I would never leave. And I needed to go. I unlocked the door.

  “Let me drive you back.”

  “No.”

  “I’m doin’ it anyway,” he said and scooped me into his arms.

  “No! Mason, no.” I struggled my way out of his embrace.

  “Please don’t be like that. You don’t know how hard this is for me,” he said, his voice pained.

  “Feel free to stop explaining, I get it okay.”

  “I don’t think you do,” he breathed. And for a moment, I knew he was hurting too. But he deserved to. He’d made this choice. No one was forcing him to stop seeing me.

  “Just leave it alone,” I sniffled, and turned my back to him, my hand on the door knob. My insides ached. I felt more alone in that moment than I had the entire time I’d been in Louisiana.

  As I turned the door knob, Mason put his hand on mine. “Let me drive you back.”

  “No,” I said, and pulled the door open. Letting my hand fall away from his, I walked out. He followed me. “C’mon, Kat. It’s late and it’s too far for you to walk.”

  I was so mad and hurt that all I wanted to do was hurt him back. What happened next made me believe that the universe was on my side for once.

  Garrett’s truck flew by us.

  “Don’t worry, Mason,” I said, wiping tears from my face and standing up a little taller. “I won’t have to walk.”

  After letting Dixie out of his truck, Garrett circled around the cul-de-sac and stopped in front of Mason’s house. “Can you drive me back to your house?” I asked Garrett before he could say anything. “Sure.” His eyes cut from me to Mason, searching for an explanation.

  I climbed in the passenger side of Garrett’s truck, and he waved at Mason before driving away with me. Mason stepped out into the street and I watched him in the side view mirror as we travelled farther and farther away from him, until he had completely disappeared from my sight.

  “What happened there?” Garrett asked.

  “Nothing,” I said.

  Garrett and I were quiet until we pulled up at the house. “Thanks for the ride. I’ll be in, in a little while,” I said before he got out of the truck. “Alright,” he said, and left me alone.

  When I thought I was ready to go inside, I slipped out of Garrett’s truck and walked around to the side of the house. It was so quiet, but it was also two in the morning. I stood there frozen, stalling, because I didn’t want to go in. I almost felt like I couldn’t.

  The more I thought about the night, the more upset I became. It wasn’t just what Mason had done. It was everything. I collapsed to the ground and sobbed over things that were long overdue for me to cry about.

  Chapter 22

  “I guess last night didn’t go so well,” Russ said. I opened my swollen eyes; he was standing above me, sipping from an oversized, lipstick red coffee cup. That’s when I realized I was still outside; sprawled out on the side lawn, moist with morning dew and wearing Mason’s clothes. I could smell him on my shirt, and it made me mad.

  Russ bent down and helped me up. I muttered, “Thank you,” and bypassed him for the back door. Dana was in the kitchen, pouring a cup of coffee. I burst into tears again the second I saw her.

  “What happened,” she gasped. “Did he do somethin’ to you?”

  I shook my head, unable to form the words to explain. I put my arms around her, and she hugged me.

  “I’m so sorry. I knew I shouldn’t have let you go.”

  “No,” I blubbered. “It would have happened anyway—no matter where we were.”

  “Did he force you to do somethin’?”

  “No,” I said and let go of her. I used the bottom of Mason’s shirt to wipe the tears from my face. “He doesn’t want to be with me,” I said brokenly, staring at the floor.

  “Oh, sweetie,” Dana breathed, looking sorry for me. I hated that she was looking at me that way. It made me feel even worse; something I hadn’t thought possible.

  “Can I get you anything? Are you hungry? Do you dr
ink coffee?” Dana rattled.

  “No thanks.” I knew she meant well, but the only thing I wanted was a quiet place to hide. “I’d really just like to lie down,” I said.

  “Alright.” She gave me a loving smile. “I’ll get some fresh sheets.”

  Dana took a stack of linens from the closet in the hallway and carried them to Garrett’s room. “He’s in with the girls—on the pullout.”

  The bed was made and looked like it hadn’t been slept in at all. Dana stripped it down anyway and made it back with the clean linens in her arms. I thanked her, crawled beneath the bleach-scented sheets, and closed my eyes. They stung beneath my lids and began to leak. I felt numb, but thought that was better than hurting.

  I thought of Mason as I drifted off to sleep. I couldn’t help it. I hadn’t been able to keep him out of head since we’d met and I knew it would be a long time before I didn’t think of him anymore.

  Chapter 23

  During the following week, I kept to myself. I didn’t hang out with the Broussard kids when they went out, out of fear of seeing Mason. He hadn’t been at their house all week either. Bit and Shelby tried to get me to tell them what happened a few times but I didn’t. They knew Mason and I weren’t together anymore; the rest was none of their business. Besides, I didn’t feel like dishing the embarrassing details.

  Today, even though I didn’t feel like it, I had to go out.

  I was in the kitchen searching for a cab company on my phone when the screen door creaked open.

  “There she is!” Garrett said. “Out of hiding.” He held his hands up like he was animating story time at the public library or something.

  “And where have you been all week?” I asked, sarcastically.

  He gave a bright smile. “Entertaining.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “You’re not a total prude, are you?”

  “I’m not a prude at all,” I said.

  Garrett studied me a moment before taking an apple from a bowl of fruit sitting on the island that I was positive Dana had bought with me in mind.

  “Whatcha lookin’ for?” he asked.