Eternal Soul

by Amy Henwood

  * * *

  The downside of waiting for him to pick me up from work was that my shift seemed to drag on for eternity. Pots of coffee took longer to brew, dripping slowly into the crafts. The deep-fried fritter took dreadfully long to cook and drain.

  I tried not to concentrate on the oversized clock on the wall. The owner made it at one of those trendy craft nights with a group of friends. They paid a hefty sum to get together, drink wine and have an over-excited instructor show them how to make a rustic clock on reclaimed barn wood—or so she claimed.

  The second hand moved at what seemed to be the pace of five. The lack of customers did not help time move any faster.

  I put my best effort into staying occupied, despite periods when the only people inside Cinnamons were me and my co-worker Andrew. He was cute, if you were into skateboarders whose hair was silky flat until where the brim of the helmet sits, then flared out like it was trying to escape the doom of Alcatraz. Not to mention the fact that he was in his final year of school—high school.

  I wiped down the counters clean from every speck of coffee drop and crumb. I sprayed and wiped the tables, even when no one had sat there since I had cleaned them last. I was convinced that if I carried on that time-killing routine there might be no protective coating left on the tables. I dusted off any fragments on the black-cushioned chairs and pushed them in, direct centre of the edges of the table. I would have mopped the grey tile floor, but that task is an after-doors-are-locked, at-close item—for the safety of the customers. The owners don’t want the hassle of a slip and fall lawsuit, especially if there was a hot drink involved.

  Tick-tock, tick-tock. The barn wood clock was an evil reminder of the never-ending, never-closing shift.

  “Hey, you missed a spot,” Andrew remarked while I was bent over picking up a large pastry crumb off the floor.

  “What?” I said, snapping out of my robot movements.

  “I’m kidding,” he said defensively. “Your cleaning habits are almost as bad as my mom’s when she is pissed off at my dad.”

  He possessed this creepy habit of watching me. We had worked busy weekend shifts together with multiple employees, and he never watched the rest of them like he watched me. I was possibly more paranoid than anything, as quite often I felt that many people were watching my every move.

  Disposing of the crumb in the garbage behind the counter, I discovered a long drip of dried coffee down the front of the white can. Retrieving a wet paper towel, I cleaned that too.

  “If you dare approach any light fixture with a rag, then you will be worse than my mom,” said Andrew.

  The stupid remark drew my focus to one of the lit wall sconces. The dust layering the top stood out, and now having the knowledge of the disgusting state of them, the urge to clean them struck. I filled up a bucket with warm, soapy water and attacked them.

  “I was only joking, Scarlett.”

  I continued to wash. Jamming the rag into every tight corner. Rolling the tip between my fingers to get into the tiniest of crevasses, to not leave any dust intruding speck behind. Vigorously wiping the lampshade, it shifted off the holster. I caught it mid-air, preventing it from shattering on the hard floor. As I transferred it back onto the wall fixture, and glad that I wouldn’t have a lampshade to replace, it didn’t want to sit properly onto the fixture. That’s when I finally noticed the shade had not detached in one whole piece and had, in fact, broken off. The razor edge of the broken glass had sliced the inside edge of my thumb when I caught it mid-air. Maroon blood stained the shade and dripped onto the tiles. Holding the oozing blood in my hand, I went to the sink. Red water swirled down the drain with no sign of the blood flow slowing.

  “Let me take a look,” Andrew said, coming to my aid. His young, innocent hands inspected the cut. “It’s pretty deep, but you won’t require stitches.”

  He retrieved the first aid kit, pulling out a few supplies. The bleeding had slowed substantially while he had gotten the kit. He rubbed on antibiotic ointment and wrapped it with gauze and medical tape. The gauze was placed with precision and the tape avoided the joints, giving me free range of motion.

  “Where did you learn this?” I asked, inspecting the professionally dressed wound.

  “My mom is a nurse. Basic first aid knowledge is a requirement in my house.”

  “Please thank your mother for me. She taught you well.”

  He flushed, probably thinking I was making an attempt at flirting. Clearly, I wasn't.

  With everything cleaned—including my blood splatters—and a handful of customers served, the clock finally displayed eight o’clock.

  I changed out of my sunburst orange work shirt, rolled it up to fit into my purse, and exchanged it for a pale pink, peek-a-boo sleeved shirt, the fabric flared at the side—compliments of Mia.

  “Got a big date or something?” said Andrew, as I was reappearing from the washroom.

  “Actually, yes.”

  “Oh.” Grieved disappointment overcame his mellow voice.

  “Don’t sound too excited for me.”

  “Well, I thought that…”

  I interrupted him. “Working the closing shift with you alone does not classify as dating.”

  “I know, I just thought that maybe you and I would go to a movie sometime.”

  “That’s sweet, Andrew, but I’m sorry to inform you that going out with you would be the equivalent of going out with my little brother.”

  I could hear his teenage heart split in the silence of the cafe. I sympathized with him, but it was no worse than the pain I felt when I came to the notion that Joe from the Jonas Brothers would never be my future husband, no matter how much I fantasized about it.

  “Come on, now. Let’s finish up here so we can lock up for the night.”

  We went around Cinnamons to do our final close routine. We switched off the lights in the bathroom, small kitchen and main lounge, leaving only a single light illuminating the front door and one dimly illuminating the serving counter. I checked to make sure all the equipment had been switched off and the safe locked with the remaining balanced till funds. I turned the lock on the front door and said a silent prayer we didn't forget anything inside, as once we pulled that door shut behind us there was no getting back in until morning. Unless an employee had the guts to call a key-holding manager to let them back in for retrieval of the forgotten item—they just had to be prepared to be scrubbing toilets and grunt cleaning all the equipment for the next week or more.

  Lights off. Equipment off. Door tightly shut. Now to wait again. I told Chase eight-fifteen because Cinnamons officially closed at eight and I needed time to clean and lock up, but with the zero-customer movement in and out the last half hour, we were never reprimanded for locking up early.

  “See you next week,” I said to Andrew as his skateboard took off in the distance, eager to spread the gap between him and me.

  I sat on a bench close by. The cement was cold on my butt, crossing my mind that it might be better to stand, but I had been on my feet all shift, and my legs that had climbed up and down on chairs were begging me for some relief no matter how brief or uncomfortable it would be on other body parts.

  The noise from the wheels on Andrew’s skateboard rolling across the cement sidewalks grew fainter in the distance, where only the hum from the street lamps and occasional vehicle broke the still night silence keeping me company.

  Downtown turned ghostly hollow after dark in the cold months. Locals retreated into their homes until dawn, wishing for a warmer tomorrow.

  Headlights beamed in the distance, getting brighter as they worked their way across town in my direction, coming to a stop directly in front of me.

  The temptation-red of Chase’s car glimmered under the town’s glow, extending the sparkle finish on the exterior paint.

  “Hi,” I said nervously as he approached me from the street.

  “Good evening.” We stood under a street lamp, spotlighting us like a Broadway show. “Hard to
believe, but you look more beautiful than last night,” he said.

  “You look mighty handsome yourself.” Wait, mighty handsome? I really do suck at this.

  “Shall we?”

  He held out his hand and escorted me to the openly awaiting passenger door. The car left town with a roar of modified mufflers in the opposite direction of my co-worker.

  “Where are we going tonight?” I asked.

  Chase removed his eyes from the road, focusing on me and never weaving from a perfectly straight line.

  “Ethan and Cora’s. We usually get together at their place on Saturdays. Sorry I didn’t mention the details earlier on the phone.”

  I had been caught up in the awe of having another night with Chase that I didn’t ask earlier.

  “If you rather not, we can catch a movie instead.”

  “No, Ethan and Cora’s is good.” Any place with Chase was a good place.

  “Great. I also promise you that tonight I will not leave you with any crazies.”

  “Sadie?” I chuckled. “She is far from it.”

  “Yeah, she is pretty harmless.” He turned his head back to the road.

  “Will she be there too?” I asked as I would appreciate seeing a familiar face.

  “Of course. Dominic and I go everywhere together, and Sadie goes where he goes.”

  “If you do leave me unsupervised with Sadie tonight, I would be okay what that.”

  “Deal.” Chase focused on me again. “If I take off again, I will ensure she is by your side. She mentioned that she enjoyed your company yesterday.”

  If I was correct, that statement put me in the beginning phases of being accepted into Chase’s clan, exactly what Mia instructed me to do. If his friends approved of me, he was more in tune to keep dating me, or something along those theoretical lines.

  The car stopped in front of the triplex rental of Ethan and Cora’s. It contained a little yard and a large driveway. Entering the unit, we took a set of stairs down the side to the basement level.

  “Are the neighbours not going to complain of the noise?” I questioned as I heard music before even entering.

  “No. This entire section of street is rented out to college students. The landlord of this place owns close to every house around the cul de sac. He bought them up as quickly as they were listed. Good chance people from this rental and others around will end up here at some point. There are times the party moves upstairs or to a whole different house.”

  “Do you do this often?” I felt stupid for asking, but university nightlife was foreign to me.

  “Twice a week, if not more. You’re welcome to attend any of them. You are with me now, so anything I’m invited to, you are too.”

  The words hit me with profound strength. With him. I’m with him.

  Parties and large group gatherings were an item I chose to avoid whenever possible. The same reason why I was better off gaining tiny amounts of wealth at Cinnamons opposed to big tips at Fish Bowl. Less population converted to fewer spirits trying to interrupt my daily thinking. This point was proven this past shift. Five customers the last hour and not one stayed—grab and goes only.

  I foresaw spirits trying to make contact with me and disrupt my time with Chase. Even worse, I feared my grandma. I concentrated harder on my barrier. Nothing was going to ruin my time with him.

  He opened the door without knocking, ushering me ahead of him. There was a sizable difference in the number of people there than Sadie’s, but it was the opposite of what I had expected. I had envisioned loud music that even at a yelling voice you would not be able to clearly understand the person beside you. Others on the couch making out beside a male who was already passed out, and a fight breaking out because this guy looked at that girl and the boyfriend automatically assumed he was trying to make a pass at his girl.

  The reality was that the music was noticeable, but at a respectable volume. Guys surrounded the television, watching the final period of a hockey game with the additional background noise of talking and laughter, with no grudge matches in the making.

  Sadie, the common denominator, was the first to approach us.

  “Hey, you two. I’m happy you could make it, Scarlett.” She wrapped her arms around me, forcing my head into her shoulder. Her champagne-coloured hair was fragranced with strawberry.

  “Hi Sadie,” I said, still wrapped in her embrace.

  “Have we have not scared you off yet?”

  “No,” I responded with a smile.

  “Oh my. What happened?” she said, looking at my wrapped hand.

  “Oh, it’s nothing.”

  “It sure looks like something with a wrap job like that.”

  Unable to ward off the inquiring Sadie, I gave up on trying, as I would with Mia. “I cut myself on some glass at work. My co-worker dressed it for me. His mom is a nurse. It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

  It doesn’t hurt anymore? The cut was large and deep. There should be at least a small sense of lingering ache from it. Discreetly I inspected my neatly dressed thumb and moved it around. Not even the tiniest feeling of tension irritated it. The usual pulling on the closing skin was absent.

  “Chase, did you see her hand?” Sadie said.

  “I do now that her jacket is off, but can I have my date back now?”

  “Fine,” she grumbled, “but pay better attention to your woman next time. Now, let me take your jackets. I will put them in the bedroom at the end of the hall.”

  Chase took hold of my jacket at the shoulders and I slipped off the article I borrowed from Mia—for a second night in a row. His hand skimmed across the back of my neck. A sensational wave of vibrant shock rippled throughout my anatomy. Then something changed within me. The school grade crush instantly upgraded to an intimate connection. Barely knowing him but never wanting to be without him. I craved to be close to him, always. The urge to be wrapped within, caressing me, kissing me endlessly, stayed with me, never lessening in stamina.

  Without realization, my eyes had shut, absorbing the sensation until I felt his hand on the lower crevasse of my back, shuffling me away from the door. When I regained focus to my surroundings, Sadie was in front of us with two drinks in hand replacing our jackets.

  She handed me a Mike’s Hard Lemonade. Clearly, she had taken notes from the previous night.

  “Thank you,” I said. “Where is Cora?” I drank the neck of the bottle in a single gulp.

  “She is watching the game with the boys. I get to play hostess here.”

  “I can see why. You do an amazing job at it.”

  “I love doing it. More arriving. Pardon me while I go be Miss Hostess.”

  I saw the tip of Cora’s head over the back of the couch. She was into the hockey game as much as the guys around her.

  Any feeling of awkwardness around the strangers diminished with the close proximity of Chase. I kept my drink in one hand while he kept the opposite side of me occupied with his arm wrapped around my torso. My drink was never empty for long, as Sadie was eager to replenish it without me requesting.

  The hair on the back of my next stood up from a cold breeze. Brandon was coming in the main door. He stood with his chin in the air, scanning the contents inside, like he was looking for something—or someone. I knew better not to stare, but I was curious to see what he was so intrigued to find. He found my eyes watching him and walked in my direction. I turned away from him, not to avoid him, but out of embarrassment.

  “Hi, Scarlett,” he said quickly on reaching me. “How’s your thumb?”

  “My thumb?” I said, trying to hide my wrapped wound behind my bottle and opposite hand.

  “Yes, the one you cut at work.”

  “Umm, it’s okay,” I said looking down at my thumb.

  He placed his hand on my arm and squeezed it tenderly, lingering on the hold.

  “It will be fine,” he said before letting go and leaving my presence.

  I continued to look down at my hand and back to Brandon’s direction, wo
ndering why Brandon would care that much about my cut thumb to find me right when he came to Ethan and Cora’s. The second stumping factor was how he would know about it.

  “You look deep in thought, Scarlett,” Sadie approached me.

  “No, just complexed about Brandon.”

  “He is a little on the strange side, I do admit.”

  “Yeah, he really is.” My head tilted sideways, looking at him across the room.

  He caught me looking at him again, but this time I didn’t shy away. There was something he was not telling me about himself, and I had not the slightest idea what it was. Chase’s return to my side had me break free from my stare down with Brandon.

  I was mute for the remainder of the night. My head would nod while being introduced to new people, and my vocabulary consisted mostly of “Nice to meet you.” Chase knew every soul who entered the tiny basement apartment, and everyone knew him. The crowd grew and shrunk throughout the night. Sadie was at the ready to greet everyone who entered, while Cora stayed by Ethan’s side, letting Sadie do her thing. Strange setup, but the system in place worked for all parties involved. Conversations flowed around me, but nothing I could follow and retell at a later date.

  Chase stood good by his promise and kept by my side the majority of the evening, only leaving my side occasionally and never for extended lengths of time. His arm would remain tightly around me whenever he was with me, holding me close. His scent of crisp outdoor woods kept me wanting to dig my head into his chest and get lost in him. I continued with my nods and friendly smile. Boredom was getting to me, but I pushed it aside, not going to give up any second to be with him.

  He leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Did I mention how beautiful you look?”

  “Once,” I responded, flattered.

  He lightly brushed his lips down my neck. “You are the most gorgeous person I have ever laid my eyes on,” he spoke softly and slowly slid his tongue along my ear lobe.

  The bottle slipped out of my hand as my entire body went numb. His arm gripped me tighter, keeping me upright. I cringed in the anticipation of the glass shattering on the floor, but the sound of glass on ceramic didn’t occur. Sadie was holding it—not a drop spilled. She had been nowhere near us, or at least I didn’t think she was, but her reflexes were Jedi sharp, preventing the sure fate of the shattered bottle.