by Elle Casey
“I can see the words on the page.” He reaches out to touch the book in the painting, but I stop him.
I lower his hand down to his leg again. “It’s wet. Don’t touch it.”
He takes two of my fingers in his grasp and looks at me, finally tearing his eyes from the canvas. “Is it me? Is that really me?”
I shake my head. “No, Jeremy. It’s not you. It’s who you were, but it’s not who you are. Not now.” I yank on his hand to wake him out of that hypnotized place he looks like he’s fallen into. “It’s not you.”
His mouth moves up into a lopsided, sad smile. “That’s what Laura used to say.”
I frown, confused. “What?”
His thumb rubs the back of my hand and he looks at me. His expression is unreadable. “Whenever I’d act like a dick or out of character, she’s just look at me and say, ‘That’s not you, Jeremy. It’s not you.’”
I shrug, casting off the crazy feeling that I’m being watched by her ghost. “She sounds like a smart and patient girl.”
“She was. So are you.”
I pull my hand away. “I told you before not to compare me to her.”
“I’m not,” he rushes to say. “I promise. I was just noticing that quality in you, and I meant it as a compliment, not as a comparison.”
I raise the sheet up like I’m about to throw it over the canvas.
“Please don’t cover it up.”
I look at him. “Why?”
“Because. It’s a good reminder.”
“Of what?”
“Of me not being me. I need that. Laura always wanted me to be myself, and she was right about that. That’s who I need to be.”
I let the sheet fall to my side. “It’s just a painting.”
“Maybe to you. Not to me.” He looks over at it again and points to the dog. “I love that part. He looks like he’s trying to figure out which part of me he wants to bite first.”
I smile, a little embarrassed about what I’ve painted. It’s a new experience for me. Usually there’s no question about what I should paint or that it should exist. But this time it’s different; some of my own personal emotions are mixed up in that paint. I shouldn’t be surprised; that’s the way my work should be. It’s just that it’s been so long since that’s been the case.
“It was right after he bit you. I couldn’t resist.”
Jeremy shifts to the side a little, getting closer to the easel. “I like the mix of emotions. The darkness surrounding the guy. Me, sitting there sad. The dog with only one thing on his mind. The book and what I know it means to the man sitting there. It works.”
“Well, thank you,” I say, kind of laughing, feeling shy. I’m pleased he understands my take on his emotions, but still wish he hadn’t seen it. It reveals way too clearly how closely I’ve been watching him. Will he notice that part of it? What will he think?
“Maybe when you’re done, you’ll let me buy it from you.”
I shrug, moving back to the living room. “Maybe. We’ll see.”
“Here,” he says, going into the kitchen. He pulls a small, clear, glass cereal bowl out of a cabinet. “My secret.” He puts it down on the island.
I walk over and pick it up. “Your secret is a bowl.”
“Not just any bowl.” He takes it from me and mimes filling it with something. “See? Put the snow in, pack it down, flip it upside down. Perfect snow ball for syrup.”
“Ah-haaa, very sneaky.” I hand the bowl back to him. “I guess now all our secrets are out on the table.”
He puts the bowl down on the counter. “Not all of them.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You have more?”
He shrugs. “Maybe. What about you? You got any good ones you’re holding back?”
I shake my head but say nothing.
“Scared?” His grin is positively evil.
“Do not look at me like that,” I say, pointing at his face.
He holds his hands out at his sides, all innocence. “Like what?”
“You know exactly what.” I turn to walk away, but suddenly I’m grabbed from behind.
“Gotcha!” he yells with glee.
I squeak like a mouse caught by a python.
“What are you doing? Put me down, you fool!”
A couple seconds later, he stops swinging me around and I stop fighting. My feet go to the floor and he leans over from behind me, resting his face on my shoulder. His breath stirs the hair by my ear and make me shiver.
“I’m sorry. I got carried away. I just wanted to hug you.”
I look to the side, taking all the bravery I have in me and using it for this moment. “If you wanted a hug, all you had to do was ask.”
“I’m not good at asking for things.” He lifts his head a little and rests his chin on my shoulder. His warm, strong arms are wrapped around my middle. I rest my hands on his forearms, praying this won’t stop anytime soon. My heart is going nuts. I can hear its beat in my ears.
I stare straight ahead, worried if I keep looking at him we’ll be making out in five seconds flat. “You can ask me for whatever you need. I won’t tell anyone.” I didn’t realize how suggestive that would sound until it was already said. Oh well.
“Deal.” He lets out a long sigh. “Can I have a hug?”
“Yes.” I wait a few seconds, but nothing happens. “But you’re going to have to let me go so I can turn around.” My heart is hammering away worse than before.
I can do this. I can hug him and not kiss him and not slide my hands all over his body. I just have to think of something very unsexy as he wraps his arms around me and holds his body against mine. Like… like… Dammit. I can’t think of anything but him taking his clothes off.
He releases me enough for me to turn around, but he doesn’t let me go. I look up at him and he tips his head down to look at me. “I’m really glad you came to the cabin to paint.”
“And I’m really glad that you were using it as your escape.”
“I’m going to miss you when I go tomorrow.”
“I’m going to miss you too,” I admit, with a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes.
He leans down and wraps his arms around my back and holds me against him with a strength I didn’t know he was capable of. It’s not muscles that bind us; it’s emotion. Something’s happened out here in the middle of nowhere, and I have no idea what’s going to come next.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
IT TURNS OUT BEING SOMEWHAT intimate with Jeremy is a lot easier than I expected it to be, this hugging and being hugged. I’ve never felt as complete as I do in his arms. Everything seems do-able, like anything I come up with for my life’s future can be accomplished. There’s some kind of strange magic happening in this cabin, and I don’t want it to stop.
But then the inevitable happens, and I’m sure it’s not just all me. The heat begins to build between us. I can feel him growing hard against me.
His hand starts to stroke my back. My fingers move up to touch the back of his hair at his neck. The smell of maple syrup mingles with the scent of skin warmed by the fire and our bodies pressed together.
He moans. “Mmmm, this feels good. It’s been so long since I’ve touched another human being.”
I wiggle a little, trying to get closer. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t control myself anymore. He’s leaving tomorrow. What’s the harm in enjoying one night together? Even if it’s just a few kisses?
“I’m having a hard time keeping this to just a hug,” he says in a deep voice.
“You’re not the only one.”
“Tell me to stop if you want.” He sounds like he’s hoping I won’t take him up on his offer.
I can’t say anything. If I tell the truth, I’ll be to blame when everything goes south; but if I say nothing, it could be his decision. Maybe he’s the one who needs to make the choice, not me. It’s his life that’s been destroyed. Mine is only confused, ambling. His was moving into very dark territory.
As I con
sider all this and let images of the potential dire consequences roll around in my mind, I realize that the best thing for me to do is stop this before it goes any farther. He’s not in the right state of mind to do the best thing by himself. He said it himself; if there were beers in the fridge, he’d finish them. I don’t want to be part of his path to self-destruction.
I pull back and rest my hands on his arms. “Jeremy, I really like you.”
He smiles, leaning towards me.
I lean back, cutting him off. “But I don’t think we should do anything … in that way.”
He stands up straighter, his expression falling off and leaving his face blank. “Okay. If that’s what you want.”
I feel like crying with the unfairness of it. I fight to keep my voice reasonable and even. “No, it’s not what I want. What I want doesn’t matter, though. What matters is that we do the right thing.”
“And the right thing is nothing?”
“The right thing is to recognize that you are leaving tomorrow, and we’re away from the real world for only one night. And we’ve shared a lot of good things today that are probably influencing our decisions right now in a way they shouldn’t.”
“You think we’re under a spell,” he says.
“Maybe. Kind of. I don’t know. I just know that when you go tomorrow, I want to know that we didn’t make any mistakes. That we didn’t mess this up.”
“This? What is this, anyway?” He steps back from me and looks around. I think he’s frustrated, but pray he’s not mad. “What is it that we have?” he asks.
I shrug, feeling cold not being in his embrace anymore. The embers in his eyes have died down, snuffed out by my cold and analytical approach to his desire for me.
I squirm at the question, trying to come up with a good answer. “Friendship? Mutual admiration?”
He nods. “Okay. If that’s the way you want to play it.”
“Why are you being so cold?” I ask, battling tears. Was it all a trick? Was I fooling myself to think this was something special? Am I just a warm body for him to bury himself into?
His entire body sags. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be.”
With just those words, he restores my equilibrium. The relief that washes through me is indescribable in its amplitude. It doesn’t make any sense.
“I guess I’m out of practice,” he says, looking embarrassed. “I was never a very smooth operator, but I used to at least know how to act around a pretty woman.”
His use of the word ‘pretty’ makes me blush. “You were doing just fine, believe me.”
“And yet, you still turned me down.” He smiles, again, looking very devilish.
“I’m just trying to do the right thing. Don’t make me feel bad for that.” I pout, attempting to lighten the mood.
“I like teasing you.” He bites his lip, giving me the impression he means to tackle me.
“Stay away,” I say, backing up.
“Are you sure?” he asks, stalking me as I walk backwards around the couch.
“Yes, I’m sure. Go away.”
He makes as if to leap, and I shriek, running into the bathroom and locking the door behind me.
His responding roars come through the door likes it’s made of paper.
“Ow, goddammit! Dog! Get off me!”
I laugh so hard I have to hurry up and pull my pants down and sit on the toilet to keep from peeing myself. I can totally picture what’s happening outside that door; Jaws has gone on the attack again.
“Don’t think you’ve escaped my wrath,” he warns through the door.
I hear Jaws’s responding growl.
“Okay, okay! Jesus, give it a rest, would ya, Stanky? No one’s going to hurt your momma in there.”
My whole body warms at the idea of being called somebody’s momma. There’s seriously some crazy magic going on in this cabin. After teaching high school for eight years, the last thing I wanted to do was have kids, but now I’m picturing some little girl who looks a lot like Jeremy calling me Momma.
I finish up my business and then take some time to tame my hair and brush my teeth before I emerge. My pulse rate is climbing as the door is opening, and as I imagine the sparring with words Jeremy and I will be doing soon and the hugging and kissing that could follow. I think I was wrong to turn him away earlier. I should have given him a green light. We’re both adults. We can handle this…whatever it is.
Jeremy is lying on the couch, gently snoring, one his hands resting on his chest, the other hanging off the edge of the cushions. A glance at the clock tells me it’s a lot later than I thought it was. He looks so sweet and young when he’s asleep, I can’t bother him.
I consider going to bed too, but instead I go into the alcove. Jeremy’s leaving tomorrow, and I want him to have this painting if that’s what he wants. It’ll still be wet, but I can probably prepare it for shipping without too much trouble. He’s traveling in a truck that I presume has heating that can help dry it out.
I pick up my brushes and focus on the image before me. There’s just a little more to be done before I’ll feel pride in signing my name at the bottom.
As I stare into the paint that covers the area around the man in the picture, a faint light appears off to my left. But when I turn my head to look at it, it disappears. At first I think it’s a car coming up the driveway, but that makes no sense since the driveway is in front of me, and the light isn’t that bright.
I go back to staring at the picture and it returns. Goosebumps rise on my skin as I realize the only explanation for what’s happening: She’s here. Laura. She’s looking at the painting with me.
I can hardly breathe. I’ve never allowed myself to believe in the afterlife or the ability of spirits to remain on this earth, but there’s no denying I feel something in this cabin other than the three living beings I know are here.
When I was at that seance many years ago, I felt nothing but abject fear. Now, there’s none of that. Whatever it is, it’s a neutral enough presence that I’m able to get control of my emotions fairly quickly and can go back to staring at the painting and focusing on the subject.
All I can see is Jeremy now, and something doesn’t feel quite right as I take in all the darkness I’ve painted around him.
I pick up a brush and add some yellow to it. Then some brown. Then more yellow. One stroke near his back brings in some light.
In my head, I hear words as if I were thinking them to myself:
That’s not him.
I know immediately that I didn’t think those words. She did.
I jerk my head to the left, trying to catch a glimpse of her, but there’s nothing there.
My brush goes to work again. More light comes into the painting. Then I add a ghosted image on the very edge of the canvas, just as I see it out of the corner of my eye. I let my hand do the work without conscious thought. I’m not even sure what I’m painting, if it’s just a fog or an actual figure. It reminds me of being in the bathroom as a child and staring at an image as I made a portrait of my own face, seen through the eyes of a baby who hasn’t yet experienced the real world.
That’s not him.
I drop my brush into the water can and turn in my stool to face the ghost. She’s not there, of course, but does that stop me from talking to her out loud? No. Of course not. Because anything can happen in this cabin and anything is happening in this cabin.
“Listen, Laura, I hear what you’re saying. That’s not the Jeremy you knew. But it’s the Jeremy who’s here now, okay? It sucks. But I’m going to try and help him change that. Just don’t keep haunting me, because it’ll freak me out, and then I won’t be able to be around him anymore.”
Of course no one responds. And the ghostly presence is gone when I turn around again to face the painting. I consider spending more time on the piece, but then decide against it. This is it; this is Jeremy as I see him. It’s time to call it a day and go to bed.
I sign my name in the bottom right corner and
turn out the lights around me. Jaws goes out for a pee and then we cuddle up together in the bunkbed I slept in earlier today. I’m asleep before my head hits the pillow.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I WAKE UP WITH A headache, and my watch says it’s eleven in the morning. “Holy crap.” I scratch my head, realizing as soon as my fingers touch my hair that it’s a total mess and a half. “Time to take a shower.”
I get out of bed, way more excited than I should be that I’m about to see Jeremy again. I slip into the bathroom without even looking out into the living room. My hair is too greasy to face the world with, especially when that world has such a hot guy living in it.
While shampooing my hair, I dance and sing to a tune that’s playing in my head. I haven’t felt this happy about getting up and starting my day in years. I think the last time was when I was starting my new job as a teacher. I used to love going to school and seeing all those kids. It makes me wonder what made me fall out of love with it.
When I emerge, Jaws is dancing in circles. I bundle my hair in a towel, throw some sweats on, and step out of the bathroom. I need to let him out before he pees on something.
My eyes scan the cabin as I prepare myself to take in the sight of the most handsome guy on the planet. I’m disappointed to find the place empty. The fire has died to just embers.
“He must be out there chopping some wood,” I say to Jaws, as if he gives a hoot. It makes me feel like less of a desperate chick to think I’m just keeping track of things for the dog.
I let Jaws out and shut the door behind him. I need some tea before I face the day. A note on the counter catches my eye as I move into the kitchen. My heart fills with dread when I see the masculine handwriting. I move closer and touch the paper as I read it.
Dear Sarah. Do you spell it with an ’H’? I hope so, since I just did. I wanted to thank you for everything. I know we don’t know each other very well, but I can still say that you’re a great friend. I’m really glad we met. I took your advice and decided to go home and see my family. The plows showed up at 5:00, so I took off as soon as I had a clear path. I’ll bet you’re glad to be rid of me! Sorry about all those beer bottles, by the way. You’re a real sport for cleaning the place up. Anyway, good luck with your painting, and if you ever find yourself in Manhattan, or if you just need to talk, give me a call. Here’s my cell number.
