Dream House

by Stephanie Fournet

  Yes, the thought of feeding Lark still pierces my heart. I meant what I said to Pen. I don’t blame him. I’m not mad at him.

  I still love him.

  I shake off the thought and start spooning batter into each paper form. But I feel Pen’s eyes on me. She’s still staring even when I fill the first row.

  “What?” I shoot her an impatient stare.

  She leans her hip against the counter and crosses her arms again, studying me. “So you’re okay?”

  I frown. “I’ll manage… Why?”

  It’s the way she’s looking at me that makes me ask.

  Pen bites her bottom lip. “Because we might have a problem.”

  I don’t like the feeling her look stirs in my gut. “What kind of problem?”

  She hesitates, seeming to assess me one more time, as if testing if I can handle the weight of a heavy load. My abs tighten in anticipation of a blow.

  “Something weird happened Saturday night… after you and L—after you left.”

  “What happened?” Did the “bonfire” get out of hand? I left the house yesterday with Maisy, but I never drove past the front yard. Is the grass scorched? Is there property damage?

  But Pen’s frown tells me it’s something more worrisome than that. “Around midnight—after we did the releasing ceremony that you missed,” Pen adds with only a touch of resentment in her tone, “Tyler and Nina brought our chairs inside, and Livy and I stayed out to make sure the fire died down.”

  “And?” I prompt, not liking the idea of the two of them being outside in the front after midnight on Halloween.

  “And two guys who’d been hanging out at The Bouchanniere across the street stopped to talk to us.”

  I definitely don’t like the feeling of dread her tone gives me.

  “And?”

  “And they asked if the girl who’d just gone inside was Nina Lemoine.”

  Oh shit.

  “Wh-What did you say?”

  Pen looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Well, of course I said no—”

  “Was it Kaleb? Dark hair? Did he have a goatee?”

  “No. No.” Pen shakes her head like she’s already been through this. And of course she has. I was just too checked out yesterday to hear about it. “We don’t know who it was. I described both guys to Nina—who turned as white as a ghost—and she’s already pretty white—” Pen mutters. “She showed me a picture of Kaleb, and neither one was him. We’re sure of that. But she couldn’t say who they were based on me and Livy’s descriptions.”

  I swallow. “Did they look—Do you think—”

  “Do I think they know Kaleb Douche-ette? Yes, I do,” she snaps.

  In spite of the alarm I’m feeling, I crack a smile. Kaleb’s last name is Doucet, and we all know it. “Douche-ette? Did you come up with that?”

  Pen avoids my eyes, but she’s unable to hide her grin. “Livy mighta said something,” she hedges.

  I want to enjoy the pun, but the significance of this sinks in. If those guys were friends of his, and they recognized Nina, then Kaleb knows where she lives.

  We haven’t seen any sign of him since that scary day. There’s a warrant for his arrest and a bench warrant now too, since he missed the hearing for Nina’s protective order. Needless to say, the judge made it permanent.

  Nina’s starting her new job this weekend, waiting tables at Central Pizza, so we’ve kind of allowed ourselves to put the threat of Kaleb Doucet out of our minds. At least, I have.

  I wince. “How’s she doing?”

  Pen gives me a no nonsense look. “Freaked. Understandably. Talking about moving.”

  My eyes fly open wide. “What?! Nina can’t move! This is her home. We are her family. He can’t take that from her.”

  My best friend looks at me with amusement. “Yes, Braveheart, I told her that. So did Livy, and, though I don’t know exactly what was said, I’m sure Tyler had some words on the subject.”

  I tuck my chin. “Did I miss something else?”

  She shrugs. “Not sure. But you can bet he hasn’t left her side since Saturday night.”

  I snort. “You say that like he’d left her side before Saturday night.”

  We share a grin, but hers fades first.

  “Livy and I think a house-wide security meeting is in order.”

  I nod, but I can’t begin to wrap my head around what we should do. Install a security system? Add motion sensing lights to the front door? The door off the living room? Probably all of the above.

  But in the meantime, we have to be exceptionally careful. I frown.

  “Does Lark know? About these guys, I mean?”

  This takes Pen off guard. “Come to think of it, I’m not sure.” She swipes a finger through the dregs of batter in my mixing bowl and sticks it in her mouth. “I’ll make sure Livy tells him.”

  “Why Livy?”

  She pulls a face. “Because if I open my mouth to speak to that man, I’m liable to curse his cock.”

  I roll my eyes. “While your loyalty is appreciated, it really isn’t his fault.”

  “Hmmph.” She steals another swipe and licks her finger before eyeing me. “Have you two talked?”

  I shake my head. “I know we need to.”

  Pen arches a brow. “He said nothing to you?”

  “Oh, he’s texted,” I stress. “I just put him off.”

  She studies me for a minute. I watch her make up her mind. “For what it’s worth, I think he’s sorry.”

  For hurting me? I have no doubt he is. That’s one of the reasons I can’t be mad at him.

  Then there’s the life-altering love. That makes it hard to be mad, too.

  “He’s been skulking around here like a Catahoula who ate the prize hen,” she levels. “Like he’s waitin’ to be beaten with a stick.”

  I blink rapidly. “Please tell me I’m not a chicken in this analogy.”

  Pen shrugs. “I just mean he knows he wronged you. And everybody hates him.”

  “I don’t hate him.”

  She shrugs again. “I know. That’s why we all hate him for you.”

  It surprises me how much it hurts to hear this. “Don’t hate him.”

  “Hmmph.”

  “Pen.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Fine. Maybe I don’t really hate him. Is it so wrong if I let him think I hate him?”

  “Yes.”

  Pen shakes her head in astonishment. “I don’t know what to say?”

  “About what?”

  “You’ve always welcomed my hatred of your unworthy suitors.”

  The smile I give her is a sad one. “Lark wasn’t unworthy,” I say softly. “He just wasn’t meant to be mine.”

  Pen scowls, but I see it’s more than just anger. Sadness is mixed in there too. “His effing loss.”

  I rise up on my tiptoes and kiss her on the cheek. “Thank you.”

  I appreciate her support. I really do. But I can’t say I agree.

  This definitely feels like my loss.

  I knew we’d have to talk, but I figured it would be tonight. After Maisy has gone to bed.

  I’m not counting on finding Lark sitting on the hood of his Jeep, waiting for me to return from dropping her off at school.

  I pull into the garage and my palms sweat against the steering wheel as I kill the engine.

  “Can we talk?” he calls as soon as I open the car door.

  I exhale a breath. This isn’t going to be easy. Because he’ll be decent. And kind. He’s going to try to let me down gently. Try to explain that it’s not me; it’s him. No matter what he says, it’ll hurt. I might cry again. It might derail all my plans to get to work on my salon today. To keep my mind off him.

  “Now?” I call back, not ready to look over my shoulder and meet his gaze.

  He doesn’t answer. Instead, feet slap against the pavement and when I glance in the rearview, Lark is walking toward the garage. His head is low. His shoulders slumped.

  Pen was right. He
does look like a dog expecting a beating.

  I climb out of the car and meet him halfway. Getting dumped is bad enough. Getting dumped in my grandmother’s garage is unacceptable.

  I keep my eyes on the driveway until the tips of his worn Nike gym shoes come into view. Gym shoes shouldn’t look cute, but my heart still twinges at the sight of them.

  “Stella, please look at me.”

  I bargain with myself that if I don’t let myself cry in front of him, I get a glass of wine and an hour in the tub tonight to feel all my feelings.

  Accepting my own offer, I raise my gaze.

  Lark. Looks. Terrible.

  The luster of his blue eyes has faded beside bloodshot whites. Ashy smudges testify he hasn’t slept much the last two nights. His lips are dry and chapped.

  Is he drinking enough? Eating enough? In spite of everything, I want to wrap him in my arms and never let go.

  Two glasses of wine and a bath bomb, I tell myself, sweetening the no-crying deal.

  “I need you to know… I wanted to stay.”

  My brain is stuck in sidewalk gum. This isn’t what I was expecting to hear. I squint up at him.

  “What?”

  “I wanted to stay with you Saturday night. I should have.”

  I blink. “Wh-why didn’t you?”

  My imagination sends me a bevy of awful reasons for why he left. I snored. I kicked his shins—I’ve been known to do that. I farted in my sleep.

  Please, God, no.

  “I don’t want to get married,” Lark blurts.

  And if I was stunned before, I’m practically knocked sideways now.

  “I-I didn’t ask you to marry me,” I stammer, instantly defensive. Shit, did I propose in my sleep? No wonder he headed for the hills.

  Lark drags a hand through his hair, looking miserable. “I know that. I know that. It’s just—

  But I get it. He’s twenty-three. Still in college. I’m looking down the barrel of thirty. I have a kid. I’m settled here. Very settled.

  Lark has his whole life ahead of him. He can live anywhere he wants. Someplace with caves and earthquakes and rainbow colored rocks.

  Of course, he’s not looking for something serious. Of course, he doesn’t want to get tangled up in my life. Of course, he didn’t want to make breakfast together yesterday morning, declaring our happy union in front of the whole household.

  “I understand,” I say before he can speak another word.

  But Lark shakes his head. “I don’t think you do.”

  “No, I d—”

  “I don’t want to get married. Ever. To anyone,” he says, his eyes narrowed and tortured. He shakes his head again. “I never have. It’s not you, it’s—”

  “Don’t you dare say it’s me,” I warn, my words shaking on a manic laugh.

  Lark frowns at me. “But it’s true.” I watch him swallow. “The sooner you know that, the better.”

  Two hours ago, I told Pen I wasn’t mad. And I wasn’t.

  But now?

  “Are you serious? That’s why you left?” I can’t believe my ears. So leaving me without a word didn’t just mean things between us were casual? It was… it was… a fucking message?

  “Marriage, Lark Bienvenue, was the furthest thing from my mind Saturday night,” I announce before giving the world’s most joyless laugh. “I mean, seriously? Do you think I have any positive associations with the institution of marriage?”

  I make a sweeping gesture at Nanna’s sprawling house behind me. “I come from a long line of disappointed women whose husbands have been the primary source of their disappointment.” I’m practically choking with indignation now. “If only avoiding the altar were a sure-fire way of side-stepping disappointing men. Regrettably, for me, that’s not the case.”

  Lark’s narrowed eyes have widened during this little speech. Or tirade. It might be more of a tirade.

  “Stella, I—”

  “You? You, what? Assumed if you left me in bed after what we shared—” I force down the knot of rage in my throat to get the words out, the memory scalding me with humiliation—“after what I showed you, I’d get the message you weren’t husband material?”

  At this, his face pales. I’m surprised I notice since all I see is red.

  “Well, don’t worry. Loud and clear, Bienvenue.” My voice shakes just a little. My whole body is shaking. That soak in the tub might need to come sooner rather than later. And my price just went from two glasses of wine to two bottles. “Thank you for being such a great communicator. I was a fool to think what we shared was something amazing—”

  Pain slashes across his eyes. “I-It was—”

  “And might have been the beginning of something—something—” Beautiful? Precious? Life-changing? I can’t speak any of these words because if I do, I’ll lose it.

  Instead, I clear my throat hard. “So thank you. Thank you for not letting me believe you were a better man.”

  “Stella—” Lark’s voice shakes. He steps closer.

  I step back. “No. I can’t be here right now.”

  I need to get away from him. Going inside is out of the question. I turn and sprint back to my car. Slam the door. Start the engine. It revs when I stomp on the gas. I know his eyes track me as I reverse down the drive, but he doesn’t try to stop me.

  Thank God.

  I can’t trust myself just now. I’m a mess.

  Thank you for not letting me believe you were a better man.

  The residue of the words tastes awful in my mouth. I delivered them like a blow, and I wanted them to land hard. Right up until they did.

  I can’t even look at him as I back into the alley.

  I notch up the gearshift and just drive.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  LARK

  I lean against the hood of my Jeep and rake my fingers through my hair.

  That went about as sideways as it possibly could have.

  I have class in less than an hour, but screw that. I can’t move. I can barely think. All I can do is replay the last few minutes. The last few days. And count all the ways I’ve fucked up.

  I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know if I should. If Stella hates me now, maybe that’s the best thing for her.

  But the thought of her hating me makes my insides feel like a crushed soda can.

  I look up at her house. I don’t know where she went, but she left to get away from me. That much is clear. And that’s not fair. This is her home. Her sanctuary. The fact that it’s the place where I feel safest and most at home is only because of what she has built here.

  I need to give her space.

  I draw my phone from my pocket and type out a quick text.

  Me: If anyone should leave, it’s me. This is your house. Give me 10 minutes and I’ll be gone for the rest of the day.

  I hit send and move quickly.

  I don’t want to talk to anyone. Not any of my roommates. Not my parents. Not Bear. I head upstairs, change into cargo shorts and an UnderArmor shirt. I pull on my hiking boots and throw a few things into my Osprey day pack.

  I fill my Camelbak bladder, toss a few protein bars into my pack, and leave without encountering a soul.

  My gas tank is full, so I head straight for I-49.

  Once I’m out of the traffic around Lafayette Parish, I set my cruise control and let my thoughts unspool.

  Wolf Rock Cave is the only known land cave in Louisiana—at least the only one that the U.S. Forestry Service hasn’t blown up. And the branch of Kisatchie National Forest where it’s located, just south of Fort Polk, is only a two-hour drive from Lafayette. I turn off Highway 10 and take the two-and-a-half miles of forestry service road to the landmark’s parking lot.

  It’s empty, thank God.

  Not that I’d expect many adventurers on a Monday at noon.

  But I’m grateful for the solitude. I haven’t been to this spot since high school, and yet it seems like the only place I could possibly reach right now and find some
peace.

  I grab my backpack, lock the Jeep, and head down the trail. The hike is short and the uphill climb easy. The cool dampness of the forest combined with the rush of water along Bundick’s Creek is a balm to my shredded nerves.

  What’s open to the public at Wolf Cave is barely a cave at all. Two rocky overhangs and a cavity that Maisy could scarcely stand up straight in. The caverns that once housed Archaic peoples who lived almost five thousand years ago are now blocked off.

  Nomadic tribes sought shelter in them for a couple of thousand years, but some Forestry Service bureaucrat decided they’re too dangerous for us modern folk.

  It would be heaven to bust my way through the FS barricade, turn on my headlamp, and travel back in time. But for now, the rocky overhang and tiny cave will have to do.

  I breathe deeper as the double overhang comes into view. It’s like Mama Earth is welcoming me home. I slow my pace as I approach, listening to the crunch of sandstone and chert under my boots, right or wrong, feeling more reverence here than I did yesterday at church.

  When I reach the mouth of the cave, I crouch down, crawl into its cool shadow, lean my back against the craggy rock wall, and heave a mammoth sigh.

  I tip my head back and study the underside of the overhang. Thirty million years ago, all of this—not just the cave, not just Kisatchie Forest, but swaths of land spanning parts of what’s now central Mississippi, Louisiana, and Texas—was shoreline.

  If I were a horse or a black bear or another early mammal arriving here on the Oligocene scene, I’d have an ocean view from this very spot.

  Not too shabby. The dinosaurs were long gone. Early man, homo habilis or one of his upright cousins, wouldn’t show up for another eighteen million years or so. But that would have been all the way in Africa. And it would be a good million or two more before humans made their way into North America and all the way down to this cave.

  And started fucking things up for everyone.

  I reach up and touch the cold stone. Maybe I’m being a little harsh.

  The good hunting-gathering folks of the Archaic period probably still did all right when it came to finding a mate. There would have been plenty of white-tailed deer around here. Just like there is now. You speared one with your buddies, brought it back, and made sure the female who smelled like the sweet olive that grew down by the creek got a juicy cut. And some of the pelt for her footwear.