Maple Creek

by Elizabeth Penn

  “It’s wonderful to meet you, Emily,” she said, extending her hand, “I feel so much better knowing I’m not the only cat here. I was afraid my costume was too generic, but seeing you here helped.”

  I shook her hand, it was soft, “Well, mine is nothing like yours.”

  “If you mean, not an embarrassing home-made one-piece, then you are right,” she chuckled, “I think you look great.”

  “Well, thank you.” I could feel my face turning red hot at the thought of someone as beautiful as her complementing my looks.

  “Sarah is a kindergarten teacher,” John smiled.

  “Yep,” Sarah smiled back, “And I love every minute of it. What do you do, Emily?”

  “Well, I was a secretary, but I’m out here visiting to take some time for myself and decide where I want to go from here. I just needed a change in scenery.”

  “That’s how we met,” John explained, giving me a wink, “She is staying at the B&B for the next few months. Best place to stay in town.”

  “Sure is,” I grinned at him, admiring his attempt to promote the place like he had promised.

  “Wait a second,” interjected Jake Miscoff, “Heart? As in Robert and Mary Heart?”

  My smile fell from my face and my heart sank along with it.

  “Are you their daughter?” his wife asked, accusingly.

  My throat was tight, and I couldn’t speak. I simply nodded.

  “Couldn’t make it back for their funeral and yet you have the gall to be here for your own selfish reasons, trying to escape the very place you left them here for? Disgusting,” Jake huffed, shaking his head.

  Sarah’s mouth was agape, looking between the Miscoffs and me.

  I could feel tears burning my eyes, but I was frozen in place. I couldn’t move. John’s hand was on my back and he was whispering to me.

  “Let’s get out of here, Emily. Come on, I’ve got you,” he hushed, guiding me out of the room. We pushed through the thick sea of people and out into the crisp night air, but I was still choking on the air like a drowned cat.

  The car ride was a blur. John had taken me back to the B&B and sat me down at the kitchen table. Margaret was already asleep. He put the kettle on and set out two mugs with little teabags in them, pouring the hot water over the top and taking a seat beside me.

  “I’m so sorry, Emily,” he said, looking down at his mug.

  I still hadn’t spoken since we left the party.

  “I won’t ask anything, I know family can be complicated. Mine was. I had lived here with my parents, my brother, and my grandma, Margaret. She is my mom’s mom. Anyway, my mom was always getting bruises on her, but we never saw her fall. We suspected it was my father, but since we never saw it happen, the police couldn’t really do anything. And my mother always lied for him and covered it up. One day he hurt her really bad though, and my grandma drove her to the hospital, but there wasn’t much they could do. She didn’t make it. I was 12 at the time.

  “My father wasn’t there when we got home from the hospital, and we never saw him again. Which was good. He easily could have turned on my grandmother or me. He wouldn’t like who I am today, anyway. I haven’t gone looking for him and I don’t plan to. I have Grams. My brother was devastated, though. He is a lot like our father, and we don’t really talk anymore,” he shrugged taking a sip of his tea.

  I held my mug close to me, feeling its warmth. I still didn’t speak, but this time it was for a different reason. I couldn’t find the words to follow up his story. I put my mug back on the table and scooted my chair closer to John, laying my head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around mean we sat like that for quite a while, in the silence of everything unsaid.

  Once we finished our tea, we embraced each other, parted ways, and went to bed for the night.

  Chapter 8

  We all got into our own rhythms over the next week. John was usually busy with handiwork around the house, and Margaret was usually cooking, cleaning, or knitting in the living room. I spent much of my time walking around the trails that were scattered around town, winding through sparse neighborhoods full of wealthy houses and beautiful forests.

  When he had the time, John would often sit down with me, bring me a warm drink, and we would share pleasantries. None of our conversations ever became too deep or revealing, not after the party. While opening up to someone usually creates a strong bond, for us it seemed to put up some sort of invisible glass wall between us.

  When Tuesday rolled around, I worked up the mental courage to make plans to attend the local art class. I knew I needed to find myself again, and tracing my steps back to the things that made me happy before Hector came into my life sounded like a good place to start.

  “Hey,” John said, stopping me as I was on my out the door to class, “I was wondering if maybe you would like to have dinner with me tonight?”

  I was a bit surprised by his question, and it took me a minute to answer, “Like a date?”

  “Well, yeah,” he smiled.

  “Sure,” I answered, not really sure if I meant it or not, “I’m on my way to an art class, but when it’s over I’ll come back and change.”

  “Do you need a ride?”

  “No. It’s just at the elementary school down the street. It won’t take but a five minutes to walk. Thanks, though.” I gave him a hug and stepped out the door.

  When I arrived, there were already a few students there, sitting in metal chairs around a large round table. Most of them were older women, but there was one younger one who looked closer to my age. All of them had bags of supplies and were setting up their paper, pencils, paints, and brushes. I hadn’t brought anything with me, so I decided to leave, feeling unprepared.

  I didn’t see the woman behind me as I stepped back out through the door, and bumped right into her, making her drop her bag. I turned to see that it was Sarah, the woman from the party.

  “I’m sorry,” I pleaded, dropping to ground to help her with her bag.

  She kneeled down next to me, also reaching for her bag. Her hand grazed mine as we grasped the handle at the same time. An electric zing ran through my fingers. I looked up, catching the gaze of her golden eyes which were framed by the little wrinkles of her bright smile.

  “No problem, Emily,” she assured, and we both stood up. “Are you here for the class?”

  “I was, but I don’t have any supplies,” I shrugged.

  “No problem, I always have extras. After class I’ll give you a recommendation list for you to bring for next class. Come on in!”

  I followed her into the classroom where the students perked up immediately, all smiling and greeting her. I took the empty seat beside the younger woman. She didn’t speak to me.

  “Welcome, everyone! We have a new student today. Her name is Emily Heart. We are happy to have you! Now, since this month is Thanksgiving, I brought in a cornucopia with little pumpkins in it, and I figured we could have a practice today on still life drawing/painting,” she said, cheerfully reaching into her bag.

  She pulled out an old wicker cornucopia and placed it in the middle of the table, gently placing little pumpkins in it and a few around it as well. The other artists immediately got to work on their pieces, sketching and painting away in the echoing silence of the gymnasium. A few moments later, Sarah brought me some sketching paper, a sharpened pencil, and a fresh white eraser.

  “Let me know if you need any help,” she smiled, before walking around the room to look at the other students’ progress.

  I let out a sigh, relaxing as she stepped away, and I tried to focus on my drawing. I was relieved to find that drawing was much like riding a bicycle again. Although the first few marks were a bit messy, my hands were easily able to find their rhythm, and the image started to take form.

  I scribbled in shading, smudged the lines with my fingertips, and cleaned up the edges with clean strokes from my eraser. It was like dancing, and soon I was in a trance. My world was the paper and I could create anythin
g I wanted. I was in control.

  “Great job, Emily,” came the warm voice of Sarah over my shoulder.

  I smiled, looking back over my shoulder at her. She smelled like coconuts and vanilla. My favorite.

  “Thank you.”

  As she walked away, part of me wanted to stop her. To talk to her about something, or ask for her guidance on my work. She was so warm and she looked at me in a way that made me feel welcome.

  The class whizzed by, and before I knew it, everyone was packing up and leaving while Sarah shouted out comments like ‘thanks for coming’ and ‘be sure to tell your friends.’

  I folded up my new picture and put it in my back pocket, then took the pencil and eraser up to Sarah.

  “You are a great artist, Emily. I’m so glad to have you here with us,” she said, taking the items and putting them in her bag.

  “Glad to be here,” I answered, turning to leave.

  “Hey, Emily,” she stopped me, “It’s nice to meet another woman who isn’t from around here. Well, I mean, since you just moved back here…Would you like to get a coffee sometime and we can chat?”

  I turned around, butterflies in my stomach. I didn’t know why I was so nervous, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

  “Weekdays are pretty busy for me because of school. Are you free Friday night?”

  “I am. Creekside Café?” I just couldn’t seem to stop myself from blurting out the names of the places I knew in town. It wasn’t very good for keeping my cover as a newcomer.

  “Yep! 5:30?”

  “Works for me,” I agreed.

  An awkward silence hung in the air for just a moment as we both stood there, just looking at one another. She really was beautiful, and I was excited to have a female friend in the area. Someone I could really relate to.

  With a nod, I walked out of the room and back down the darkened street to the B&B. My walk wasn’t as cold this time.

  Chapter 9

  “Ready,” I said, skipping down the steps to meet John. He was already dressed up in black slacks and a formal evergreen sweater. It offset my dark red sweater-dress I had picked up at the store on a whim earlier in the week.

  “You seem extra cheery,” he smiled, “Did you have a good time at the art class?”

  “I did. It was so nice to draw again.”

  “Good,” he opened the door and we went out to his car.

  Honestly, I felt weird dating. I had just left my husband, and technically I was still married. I had never been one to just jump into another relationship. In fact, Hector had been my first, and only, real relationship. But that was my past, and I wanted so badly to forget it all and to move on with my life. And John was so sweet. Even though I didn’t have feelings for him, I really did enjoy his company.

  We pulled up to Lorenzo’s, a small Italian bistro in town that had only just opened. The restaurant was a converted house off the main road. It had creaky wooden steps leading up to a cozy dining room which smelled of basil and garlic. The carpets were red, and the walls were decorated with paintings of the Italian countryside.

  A waitress in a black dress with a dark brown pony tail, and almost too much makeup for her job title, showed us to a table by the window. The table was draped in a plane white tablecloth and had a small white tea light candle in the center. On either side of the candle were two laminated menus beside a pair of silverware which were wrapped in red napkins and two empty wine glasses.

  “My name is Veronica, I will be your server tonight,” she said, lighting the candle, “Let me know if you have any questions about our menu.”

  John and I took our seats, glancing over the list of food. It was basic Italian fare: various pastas, soups, salads, and pizzas. I placed my menu down, looking out the window into the darkness. My reflection looked pale.

  “Everything alright?” John asked, reaching across the table to take my hand.

  “Oh, um,” I paused looking down at our hands together, “Yes. I was just…thinking.”

  He sighed, taking his hand back and scooting his chair in. He placed his hands in his lap and took a deep breath. His face was softer now, but his lips buttoned together as if he were trying to hold back his words from escaping him.

  “I know you don’t think of me romantically, Emily,” he started.

  “John it’s not you. You are wonderful, it’s just,” I stuttered.

  He held up his hand, silencing me before he continued, “I thought it was worth a shot. I’ve had a crush on you since we were little. No hard feelings, though. I am a strong believer in following one’s heart. However, I need to tell you the real reason I brought you here tonight. I wanted to confide in you.”

  I settled into my chair, folding my hands under my chin as I leaned in. waiting to hear what he had to say. I was relieved and anxious all at the same time.

  “I was both relieved and surprised when you didn’t recognize me, Emily,” he explained.

  “I recognized your last name,” I said, trying to cover up my confusion.

  He smiled, “Yes. Well, when you knew me, I was a different person.”

  The waitress suddenly appeared beside our table, “Do you know what you would like to order? Can I start you off with drinks?”

  “A bottle of the house merlot for the both of us, and I’ll have the chicken fettuccini alfredo,” John answered, handing her his menu.

  “And you, Miss?”

  I hadn’t really looked at the menu, “Same.”

  She smiled, taking my menu and scurrying away. I still had butterflies in my stomach as I looked over John’s face, trying to place where I knew him from.

  He gave a heavy sigh before continuing, “We had a few elementary classes together, and a high school math class the year before you moved away. But when you knew me I wasn’t John Wood. I was Jenny Wood.”

  I sat back in my seat, gazing back out the window, taking it all in. I looked back into his eyes, and thought back to my memory of Jenny. The man in front of me was much different from the melancholy tomboy who sat next to me in math class. John was happy. John was a bright shining light. He was kind and warm, and I was lucky to have him.

  I sighed with relief, a smile spreading across my face, “John, you look amazing, so happy now. That’s why I didn’t recognize you. And my distance isn’t because of you, or all the things you have confided in me about. It’s just…”

  “Your falling problem?” he interrupted

  I nodded silently.

  “Emily…”

  Before he could continue, the waitress returned, filling our glasses with wine and setting the bottle on the table along with our meals.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. And we ate.

  The food was hearty, and the wine was bittersweet. The meal, though, was silent. The mention of my bruises left me mute, and I don’t think he knew what else to say.

  The rest of the night was mostly a blur. When we arrived home, although we still hadn’t spoke, John somehow seemed to know what was about to happen. I was still tipsy from the wine. Without a word, he enveloped me in his arms. There, in the darkness of the foyer, I pressed my face into the smell of sweet cologne on his scratchy sweater, and I cried. I just cried. I was finally crushed by the void in my chest. But peeking through the sadness in my tears was the realization that, for the first time in years, someone cared.

  Chapter 10

  Friday morning came around, and the day felt bright and new. After a few days of thinking over my dinner with John, I finally got the courage to pull out my laptop again. It was the first time I had opened my emails or looked at my accounts again.

  The emails were a bit painful, but they were expected. I had a few emails from work officially telling me that I was fired for not showing up. I also had a few emails from Hector’s family members feigning concern and expressing that I had hurt him deeply. Their messages were ended with their official corporation symbol and a digital signature. Even when attempting emotion, they were nothing but a cold corporate image
.

  But I wasn’t ready for the messages that flooded my social media page. There were hundreds of new notifications on posts that included things like friends of my husband cussing me out, expressing their shock for my selfish behavior, and the worst of all, there were instant messages left for me by my husband:

  Oct 30th:

  Where are you?

  Your phone went right to voicemail, how many times do I have to tell you to charge it…

  Seriously, where the hell are you? We need you here at work.

  Are you sick or something?

  I’ll send someone to check on you soon. You better be sick as a dog if you are missing work like this.

  Thought you could just pack your bags and leave me?! You stupid bitch! You are nothing without me. I’ll be here when you come crawling back like the piece of shit you are.

  Oct 31st:

  I’m sorry, baby. I know I get aggressive sometimes. That’s why you left. I’ll do better. Please come home.

  So, you left your phone here, huh? I just found it.

  You are just trying to piss me off.

  You only have money because of me.

  Nov 3rd:

  Missed you at work today. The office is so lonely without you. Come home?

  Nov 5th:

  Your replacement came in today. She is so hot. Maybe it’s good you left. Now I can get what I deserve instead of settling for you.

  Nov 8th:

  You will regret leaving me.

  Dumb cunt.

  I will find you.

  I slammed the computer shut and threw it across the room. I was shaking all over and hot tears burned my eyes. I could feel my stomach tightening into knots. I ran down the hall to the bathroom, throwing the door open as I dry heaved into the toilet. My whole body was convulsing, trying to force the pain out. Everything went fuzzy and the next thing I knew I was lying on the bathroom floor, looking up at the ceiling. My head was pounding. I had blacked out.