by Amy Saia
Closing my eyes, I tried visualizing the house in Penn Peak with a technique similar to astral projection. For the last few nights while lying in the uncomfortable cot, I’d made several attempts which had amounted to nothing. Seconds before reaching the scene, I’d snap myself back in. Maybe out of fear. I never had been very good at projection. The whole idea of leaving my body left me with an irrational fear similar to falling off a cliff with no parachute.
I tried again.
My body began to vibrate. The world hummed, and a rushing sound started up in my ears. The rain started falling down in little spats, and sounded like it was from off in a distance, not right next to me there in the gazebo. Slowly, I began to pick up a picture of the kitchen back home. Our little dinette table and chair set, the cracked linoleum, the little radio up on the counter, the coffeepot—the new one, of course, not the old one William had made me throw out.
I closed my eyes. A cold breeze blew around me, rain spit on my neck, but I ignored it. The scene filled behind my eyes again; I could smell coffee brewing, hear the radio tinkling a tune from the kitchen counter, a board in the wall shifting, a bird singing outside the window over the sink. I was there. It was real.
Quickly, I snapped myself back to the present, or rather, the past, and opened my eyes. Hot damn, I’d done it! Confidence swelled inside of me. I no longer felt useless. This was possible, and I would do this.
Lighting crackled off to the west, and then a loud band of thunder followed. The rain fell in hard pellets, coming so fast they curtained off the world. I was safe in my own little annex inside the storm.
I leaned back against a wooden slat. It had grown cold enough that I had to wrap my arms around myself to keep warm. My eyes opened and closed. The sound of a passing car cutting through a wet street was my last memory before I fell asleep.
William stands before me near a set of bay windows. A never-ending shoreline fills the view. Clouds hang low and a powerful wind creates little peaks of white along the water’s surface. When William turns to me, my breath stops. He is older, thicker, has wrinkles and a few gray hairs sprouting among the deep black of a full beard. He is, as usual, astonishingly handsome. But still, it is shocking to see him altered by age. I become shy, hesitant.
A smile spreads across his lips. “What are you looking at me like that for?” he says, though he could read my mind to find out on his own.
“You—you’ve aged.”
“Just now noticed that, huh? I must’ve sprung a few more wrinkles.” He grimaces, but only for a moment before staring down at his hands. I can see a sadness take over. Deeper lines which hadn’t been apparent seconds ago make themselves present in etches across his forehead and alongside his mouth.
I make a movement to step forward, but come to a standstill. My thighs have actual meat on them, much more than I’m used to, even with the pregnancy. One glance down shows a flat belly, but wider hips. And I have breasts. I meet Will with slight horror. “What’s happened to me?”
The sadness recedes. His eyes twinkle. “Still worried about a few pounds? You’re lovely.”
I smooth a hand down my side to double-check the new parts before continuing forward. His arms open in time, wrapping around me in a rugged embrace. “What’s with you?” His lips whisper against my temple.
“Nothing . . . nothing.” I am in a dream, living out my most desired fantasy: to be with William despite all threats of time. To be settled, happy, secure. But it is only a dream.“How old are you—we—Will?”
“Forty-five.” His lips travel up and down my neck in a delicious slow pattern.
“How wonderful.” I move my face to meet his lips. He’s ready for me. If we make love, it will heal me from everything. Please, please don’t let me wake before I make love to Will.
His arms tighten. “We shouldn’t be doing this. It’s dangerous.”
“What do you mean?”
“But I’ve been waiting forever to kiss you again. I’ll take the punishment.”
I pull away. Why was kissing him wrong? What is he saying?
He feels me tense up, and stops to peer down into my eyes. “Now I’ve scared you and ruined it all.” Letting go with a slow raise of hands, he backs away to sit down on a small bench by one of the bay windows. His eyes drift out, become one with the landscape of ocean and sky. A lone sailboat is a dot of white on the horizon. Grabbing a small glass object and contemplating it for a moment, he regards me with a slight resentment. “Damn this whole thing, Emma. Why did you—?”
I awoke and shifted on the bench, stretching both legs. They were so numb and heavy with sleep that I could barely lift them. The dream stayed with me, haunted me. What had he meant by the last thing he’d said? About how I’d done something wrong? Remaining perfectly still, I willed myself to fall back into the dream, because I knew moving a single inch would throw me into cold reality again. William had tossed a handful of doubt into my soul. “We shouldn’t be doing this. It’s dangerous.” What did he mean, and worst of all, why did it sound like I was the one to blame?
A car drove by, and the dream faded from my subconscious. I opened my eyes and glanced over my shoulder to the rain, rubbing against the chill—an inner chill which never seemed to go away. I was always doing things wrong. Always messing things up beyond repair. But this time would be different. It had to be.
Footsteps shuffled and halted behind me. There came a sound of a match being lit and afterwards the smell of cigarette smoke. I knew who it was before turning around. And this time it wasn’t a dream.
Chapter 18
He sat on the bench opposite, leg drawn up in leisure, cigarette held between two fingers over his knee. We didn’t speak to each other. He kept smoking while I repositioned myself so my feet planted down on the gazebo floor. I smoothed out my skirt and brushed a few leaves off my blouse.
His eyes moved to the suitcase, lingered there. “You really leaving?”
I nodded, because it was the truth, and because I had no words.
He slid his leg down with a thump to the wooden slated floor and leaned in to speak. “I’ve been thinking—”
“It’s time for me to go,” I said, grabbing my things.
William took one last drag of cigarette before throwing it out into the rain. “Something strange happened to me yesterday that I thought you might want to hear about.”
“What kind of something?” I said. The paper bag I’d brought fell over, and the half-eaten apple rolled across the floor to his boot tips. He paused before picking it up, stared at it, polished the uneaten side on his sleeve, and took a large bite.
Speaking with a full mouth, he said, “Well, you see, this leather briefcase showed up on the front porch, and lucky I was right near the front door when it did because my mother, Martha, probably would have sent it back where it came from. But I opened the door, and the postman said it had been sent by train and that there ain’t no other William Bennetts around this part of Indiana cause they’ve been searching for one, but there just ain’t, only me. So he leaves and I take the thing up to my room.” He chomped down into the apple, stuffing the crisp white flesh into his left cheek to continue talking. “And I open the damn thing and find all sorts of stuff that belongs to some other William Bennett, stuff like a hat and some clothes. All sorts of stuff. And it’s kind of exciting because it’s like snooping around, like listening on the party line and hearing all sorts of secrets. Anyway, then I find a picture buried in there among some strange-looking clothes and it’s me. It’s goddamn me in that picture.” He took another bite of apple, big enough to finish it off. With a toss, it joined the cigarette beyond the gazebo in the wet grass. “And you were in that picture, too.”
“Picture?” All I could think about was the gun. Did he find it, and if so, should I ask him to help? I’d begun to think of the ‘Kill Marcus’
mission as mine alone. William would only scrutinize my plans, tell me to stay out of it. Then we’d go home and continue our lives with no worries? No. I wanted Marcus. I wanted to be the one to make him bleed. For Jesse. For revenge.
“Yeah, so. Maybe you want tell me what it all means.”
“That girl wasn’t me.” I rose to my feet. “And I have to go.”
He stretched high above his head. Then, in a sudden move, he bent over and grabbed my bag before I could grab it myself. Our faces were inches apart. A bold smile spread across his face. “It was you.”
Shaken, I left my bag and headed down the steps, ignoring the rain which came down to soak my blouse and hair. He followed close with loud shuffles and thuds of his boots.
“Why are you trying to pretend you don’t know me now? Weren’t you the one who kissed me out of nowhere? Told me we were married? Snuck inside my room?”
I turned around, determined to pry the bag from his hands. He jerked it away and shook his head. “You kept trying to tell me something, but I wouldn’t listen. Now I’m tellin’ ya, I’m ready to listen. So fess up.”
I let out a groan. “Just be safe, that’s all you need to understand. Stay away from Marcus. Go back home, and leave me alone.”
“All right. If you say so.” He waited a few moments before handing me the bag.
“Thank you.” I was careful to not to meet his fingers while the exchange happened. But they did meet—I cringed and tried to pull away—but it was too late. A large shock passed between us.
Everything stopped. His face paled.
“I have to go,” I said, turning to leave. The rain was coming down hard now, but I couldn’t stay there with him. Damn this, and damn him showing up with those beautiful eyes.
“Wanda’s Honeymoon Hideaway,” he said in a strange, faraway voice. “You wore a—a creamy-white, lace blouse with spaghetti straps, a long skirt, and tall suede boots. A flower was in your hair, your beautiful hair that hung all the way down your back, as it does now.” I heard the sound of him moving closer. “Am I right?” He stepped closer again, was right behind me. His breath caressed the back of my neck. It was so warm, so deliciously warm and inviting. “Am I right?”
“Yes,” I whispered. I turned to him, searched his eyes. He was bewildered like a child who found out Santa Claus wasn’t real, the earth wasn’t flat, and snow melts. But under this, euphoria. I reached up to touch his face, so happy and full of wonder. “Yes.”
¤ ¤ ¤
We sat together in a rear booth at Maggie’s Cafe, his leather jacket draped over my shoulders so I no longer felt the chill of the rain. Every so often, we’d smile at each other in shyness. It was awkward. He played with my fingers across the table.
A waitress asked three times if we’d like to order something, so to keep her from coming back, we did. William drank a steaming cup of coffee while I nibbled on a slice of cherry pie. Smiling, he borrowed my fork to cut off a corner and stuffed the gooey pastry into his mouth. “More’s coming back to me.”
“It is?”
“Yeah.”
He took another bite of the pie, then another. Pretty soon it was almost gone, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t hungry. “What do you see?”
“Lots of stuff where it’s just you and me.”
“Oh.” I glanced up to meet his eyes and nearly blushed.
It felt so good to be near William again, to talk to him, to have him like me and speak to me. He was eyeing the rest of the pie, so I slid it across the table. “Sure you don’t want it?” he asked.
“No, it’s okay.”
I felt happiness watching him finish my food. Some things never changed. He gulped his coffee and sat back, arm across the top of the seat. He cocked his chin up. “Was I a good husband? ’Cause I can’t tell from what I’m seein’.”
“Hmm.”
“Is that a yes?”
“You were as good a husband as I was a wife.”
“I bet you were good,” he said.
“Not that good.” I shifted in my seat. And now I’d have to learn to be a mother. Some people understood how to do things naturally, but me, I had to learn by mistake after mistake until something finally clicked. It would never be easy.
A waitress came over to refill the coffee. William sat back, waiting for her to leave. When she did, he leaned forward so our faces were close. “Was I good in . . . in . . .? Well, you get what I’m talking about.” His face flushed as deep as mine.
“Pretty good.”
“Oh, come on. You’re teasing me.”
“Very good.”
He snorted a little before sitting back. “I really wish I could remember more.”
In the next moment his hand had fallen on top of mine. “I’m sorry I’ve been so mean to you.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it ain’t. I’d like to get to know you better, if you’ll let me. We can start over and mix the things I kind of know with the things that keep coming to me. And there’s other ways to find out more.”
I slid my arm away. “No—I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because . . . I’m leaving, and it wouldn’t be right.” I grabbed the bill and was about to pull out some money. He ripped the tab from my fingers.
“I’ll pay, and you ain’t leaving.”
“I have to.”
Sitting back, he gave a hard, disappointed stare before pulling out some money for the bill. His deft fingers tapped on the blue laminate tabletop. “I tell you I remember us getting married, and you say you’re leaving? I don’t get it. Don’t you want to stick around to help me figure this out?”
I wanted to take him home and lie in his arms and forget everything. But it couldn’t happen. Not now, not ever. I grabbed my purse and bag and slid from the booth. “Remember what I said about the church. Don’t go near them. Stay far away. I’ll see you again soon, but for now, you must go home.” I thought about something, zipped open the bag, and dug inside. I found the scarf. “If you sell this, it could get you a good amount of money.” I placed the golden band inside his open palm, and he flashed up at me with real sadness. “It’s okay.” I had trouble saying it. My throat had turned into ice. “I want you to have it. Just in case.”
His fingers crushed around the band. He hit the table hard. My plate and his coffee cup jangled together.
“Good-bye,” I said, making it final.
I left the cafe and headed straight out in the rain, cursing myself when I realized I’d forgotten to give him his jacket. Heading back in, I gave it to the waitress at the front register instead. “This is for the young man,” I said, throat still swollen. Nodding, she took it, and I glanced to see the back of his head with hair all slicked black like a real-life Superman.
The door rattled behind me and I let out a long breath. It was over. Finally over. Now we could start fresh, both of us.
¤ ¤ ¤
A few blocks down, I tried to forget the way his hand felt on my arm and how his eyes had pleaded with me. I moved down the sidewalk, hoping the rain would wash it all away. It was time to think about Marcus, and I needed a clear head.
“Come on, Emma. Get it together. Go to the church, find Marcus. Get it over with. Now.”
A dread filled my body. I wasn’t a good enough shot. I wasn’t quick enough. He’d use his powers to weaken me.
No. This is what fate wanted.
I neared the church. Through the haze and mist of falling rain, I could see it looming over the entire landscape of the town. I saw from the clock tower it was noon. The bells began to toll.
From an alleyway, I heard a strange sound, a sickening thud and a groan. Then came a deep cry and a scattering of laughter. Once again without thinking, I stopped to peer beyond a brick wa
ll and saw a familiar scene.
Paul was surrounded by the same group of young men, now dressed in expensive black suits like Marcus. They hit him so hard that blood already dripped from the corners of his mouth and nose.
I ran in and swung hard with my bag. I hoped it would knock sense into them. They thought they had a right to hurt, to destroy anything beautiful. I recognized the one who’d challenged me the other day. His eyes had faded to a dull hazel. I screamed at him, “Get away! Stop it! You’re nothing but an animal! An animal!” I kept swinging, kept trying to break him. Paul towered above, head drooping down. Water fell from the black tips of his long hair. He didn’t say a word, or show any sign that he cared or felt anything at all.
Out of nowhere, William’s tall body in his black leather jacket appeared with a fist swinging out hard and fierce. I scooted out of the way, hearing every hit that came. The group scattered, shouting curse words and threats before falling apart.
William’s eyes were hard, but they changed fast. “You okay?” he asked, reaching to lift me off my knees. Maybe it was tears I saw, maybe it was the rain.
“I’m fine.”
Paul waited a few seconds, then began to shuffle out of the alley way as if we weren’t even there, as if none of it had happened. “Paul,” I cried. “It’s me. It’s me. Why did you let them hurt you? Why do you always let them hurt you?”
He stopped and turned to me, and I saw blood dripping down into his eyes; it ran over his nose and into his mouth, staining his beautiful white teeth red. One of his eyes had begun to swell shut.
Going to his side, I attempted to clear away the blood with my bare thumb. William saw this and walked over to hand me a handkerchief from his jacket pocket. I took it and used it to wipe as much as I could, but I couldn’t wipe away the cracked skin and the bruises which had begun to color his skin.
