Page 11 of All Along

I park in front of the cabin and grab the basket before jumping out of the car and rushing to the front door. The wind off of the Atlantic hits me and I shiver. I should have worn a thicker jacket.

“Caleb!” I shout as I knock on the door. When he doesn’t answer, I shout again, “I brought you food and groceries.”

I hear footsteps inside the cabin. He’s definitely here.

I knock again. “Come on, Caleb. It’s cold out here.”

“Go home, Maya. I don’t want you here.”

His words pierce through my heart. I glance down to make sure I’m not bleeding out on his front porch. But there’s no actual blood. This pain is not visible. But it exists. Sure as I’m standing here.

If he thinks he can push me away, he’s wrong. I’m not giving up. I can’t. This isn’t the Caleb I know. My pen pal would never turn me away. There’s something else going on here. And I will figure it out. I will help Caleb.

“Too bad. I’m here now. Let me in.”

“Since when is my shy Maya stubborn?” he grumbles.

“I can be stubborn and shy at the same time.”

He doesn’t realize it, but with him I’m not shy. I’m not evasive or afraid of crowds or downcast or quiet with him. Caleb makes me feel safe. Makes me feel as if I can say whatever is on my mind. Makes me feel as if he’ll protect me if there are too many people crowding me.

“Come on,” I cajole. “I have your favorite foods here. Fried chicken, caramel popcorn, M&Ms.”

“You know how to tempt a man.”

I nearly snort. Me? Maya Jenkins? Tempt a man? Not likely.

The few boyfriends I’ve had weren’t tempted by me. A more accurate description is they thought I’d be easy since I’m quiet and shy. They learned quiet and shy doesn’t mean a pushover the hard way since this not-a-pushover knows how to knee a man where it’ll hurt the worst.

“I made the chicken right before I came here. It’s still hot. I can smell how yummy it is.” He doesn’t respond but I know he’s listening, so I continue, “And the popcorn is caramel. You’re favorite.”

“You didn’t burn it this time?”

“I burned popcorn once in my life. And it wasn’t my fault.”

“Someone else turned the oven up to the max temperature?”

“I thought it would get done twice as fast if I doubled the temperature.”

“It’s no wonder you failed home economics.”

“Home economics is stupid. It shouldn’t be a required class in high school.”

“I agree, but at least I was smart enough to not tell the teacher what I thought.”

I huff. “I didn’t tell Ms. Zimmerman what I thought of Home Ec.”

“Of course not. You wrote a letter to the principal outlining why home economics was an element of the male patriarchy and should be stopped.”

“I didn’t write the letter. Paisley did. And you know it.”

“But you signed the letter.”

I have no response. Of course, I signed the letter. I was getting a B minus in the class. It was ruining my grade point average. My only shot at attending college without taking out a gazillion student loans was an academic scholarship. B minus does not say academic scholarship.

“Let me in. My arms are getting tired holding this basket.”

“You’re still refusing to go to the gym to work on your upper body strength?”

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