Page 18 of Revelry
When she turned to me, I realized I’d never had to put into words why I felt I loved Keith differently, or how.
“Honestly?” I shook my head. “I don’t remember. I know I always wanted the best for him. I wanted to heal him, to help him push through the trials that go hand in hand with dental school and help him reach his full potential. We leaned on our love in some of the hardest times of our lives. It was almost as if when everything was okay,that’swhen our love failed. And I can’t really remember what my love for him was like before he told me it wasn’t enough. All I know is I still want nothing more than for him to be happy, no matter what that means. But he only wants me happy if my happiness is with him.”
She smiled, the crow’s feet at the edge of her eyes crinkling. “And so an empath loved a narcissist. The more you loved to make him feel whole, the more power he had.”
I crossed my arms over my stomach with a lift of my shoulders and a slight smile. “Who knows.” My eyes were on the trunk filled with her memories. “Did you ever see Beau again?”
“Never,” she answered. “But I feel him.”
The sun was setting by the time we made our way back onto the porch, and I took the seat next to her, watching the last of the light fade from the mountain tips. The temperature was dropping steadily, spring’s chilly fingers still holding on for dear life as summer crept slowly in. I grabbed the wool blanket draped over the arm of my chair and wrapped it around my shoulders.
“So why was Anderson left off the tour you gave me yesterday?” I asked after a while.
Momma Von adjusted the cushion in her rocking chair before folding her hands in her lap. “Anderson is... different. He likes to keep to himself. Honestly, other than me and old man Ron, he doesn’t really spend time with many people.”
“Why?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said with a shrug. “Why do some people love to dance on bars while others would rather read a book at home alone? It’s just what he prefers, I suppose.”
I chewed the inside of my lip as I processed. “Did he grow up here?” She nodded. “And he’s always been like that?”
This time Momma Von sighed. “I wouldn’t say that. I could tell you stories about Anderson that you’d probably be hard pressed to believe now.”
“Oh? What kind of stories?”
She smiled, reaching over to pat my knee. “Another time. I’m a little tired tonight.”
I wanted to ask for more, but it was clear that was as much of Anderson as she was willing to discuss. Maybe she was still thinking about Beau, or maybe the stories weren’t hers to tell, but still I wondered about him. And perhaps that was what bothered me most—I had said no more than thirty words to this man and he no more than ten to me, yet he’d piqued my curiosity. I was annoyed with him for being so broody almost as much as I was with myself for liking it.
I sat with Momma Von in comfortable silence for a while longer before heading back to the cabin to make dinner. When my plate was cleared, I pulled out my sketch book and stared at the blank pages. My fingers played with the charcoal pencil, twirling it between them, but nothing made them move for the paper. Nothing had, not in months, not since the night I left.
My phone rang at ten on the dot, and I closed my sketchbook with an exasperated sigh, taking the ringing phone upstairs with me and climbing into bed. Rev hadn’t come home, and so I laid completely alone for the first time in my life.
And I felt every second of it.
TIME
\'tim\
Noun
A nonspatial continuum that is measured in terms of events which succeed one another from past through present to future
I was being stupid.
This was now the fourth time I’d walked past Wren’s cabin. I told myself it was because I left a tool at home, or I forgot to turn the coffee pot off, or I left my door unlocked. But really I just wanted to see her, even if it was just a glance through the front window, and as much as that pissed me off, it was true.
It’d been almost a week since I’d made her blush on Momma Von’s porch, and somehow I was still acutely aware of her presence. Her cabin was four away from mine, but it was right next door to the Morrisons’, and I’d been there every day working. The shed had been done since Monday, but I’d conveniently found other projects to work on, other work that “needed” to be done.
Stupid.
I huffed, finally annoyed enough with myself to make my way up her drive. When I reached the top of her stairs, knuckles ready to rap on the open door frame, I stopped short.
Wren stood in her kitchen, hands on her hips, hair tied up, just staring at her cabinets. She was dressed in overalls, the hem of the shorts rolled up, the denim ripped for fashion rather than from actually working in them. She left one strap of them unhooked, revealing the simple white tank top she wore underneath, and she had a screwdriver in one hand.
I didn’t know whether to be scared or impressed.
I knocked twice, jolting her from her daze. She fumbled a bit when she saw me, but a smile spread slow and wide on her lips. She wore a full face of makeup, complete with bright red lipstick, and her long lashes brushed her cheeks as she looked up at me.
