9. Chapter Nine
Chapter Nine
Remington James
P ersonal space? Forget it.
Not only do I have Droolius tailing me, since I moved back into the cabin Natalie follows me around endlessly.
“... don’t they have diseases? Like vetreal diseases?” She means venereal but I count silently to ten choosing not to correct her. Nat can just keep her hands off him. She screeches anytime most four legged creatures cross her path anyway.
The little lump under the kitchen towel twitches as I move the basket to my bed. Sitting cross legged, I peek at him. “He’s wise looking, my little Squiggles.” On the way home from work yesterday I spotted the little guy injured at the base of an oak tree near the entrance to The Bends. Scooping him up into the baseball cap I had on, I sought out Dr. Allison. Turns out Squigs may have been stunned from a fall or a large bird had tried to grab him. Either way, I now have a squirrel. Lucky, lucky me.
“Are you going swimming with me or are you hanging out with Cal and Charlie again?” Natalie sticks her lower lip out flopping onto the bed next to me.
She doesn’t miss an opportunity to fish for information about my relationship with them. Since the night we delivered dinner to Grady, I’ve spent three nights in their company. We even invited Grady to get ice cream with us, but after looking at us in surprise he said that he’s lactose intolerant. I think he’s avoiding the guys. There’s too much not being talked about. An underlying tension I have no idea how to remedy.
The move back to the cabin only warranted a “Finally,” from Uncle Skip. Then it was back to our usual nonsense. Listening to his plans to buy and renovate a bowling alley in the next town over, as I resist the urge I have to strangle him. It hasn’t even been a full summer, but the wanderlust inside him is taking hold again. We don’t say a word about the fight we had. Maybe it’s enough for me that he showed concern to Cal the day Carlotta passed over my whereabouts. I’m currently trying to dodge thoughts about Relia and Aunt Bo. Not just their plummet out of the sky in a metal tube, but their illicit affair.
I was back for hours before Winifred made her presence known. The window over the kitchen sink would be closed, then open, then closed. Which I point out couldn’t have been me since I can’t move things with my mind from another room. Telekinesis? Yeah, I can’t do that. Uncle Skip sighed heavily and went back to reading his book.
Then there’s my aggravating neighbor slash fake boyfriend slash partner in crime. He was livid to learn that the proof Carlotta hid away is gone. We’re both lost trying to figure it out. Like a bad riddle that moves in circles. No answer is going to make me happy. I’m confident in that.
I refuse to believe it’s Cal, Charlie, or Grady. Wilder has been eyeing them all with suspicion.
Swimming with Natalie rates right up there with slowly pulling my toenails off. She’ll talk incessantly about whoever she’s crushing on right now… God help me if Charlie is mentioned again, then she’ll complain about the sun, the water, the air… just about anything until I want to pull every single hair from my head. “I’m heading next door, after Squiggles gets his milk.” With a tiny dropper I give my new pal his nourishment, concentrating on ignoring the whining from Nat. We successfully avoided her reconnection with Mitchell in the wake of losing Carlotta. For now, at least.
“To speed racer's? Yuck. He’s such a jerk.” He gives her a hard time about her spaciness, but he’s never called her dumb. There’s that.
He hasn’t told me to stay away yet, even if he’s getting tired of going over what he knows about the three summers in a row of drowning deaths. We’re on a time crunch. His leave ends in a few weeks, Grady goes back on tour, Charlie is working on getting Mitchell to leave, and Cal starts a new job teaching a couple hours away in September, fracturing this group that exists only in my mind right now.
I’ve secretly started to come up with scenarios to get them all together again. Give Wilder a chance to speak.
Natalie moves to sit on my mom’s trunk as I set Squiggles back into the basket. “Lake Hollow has a big Fourth of July parade every summer. Dad says he’s going to do a float. Did he tell you he expects us to help?” Not shocked. But this will be my first real parade. Not one that I watched on a tiny television screen, the real thing.
Stretching my legs out, I remind myself to lotion up, the sunburn is peeling on my knees of all places. The skin under the queen bees I drew on them is blistered up. “Hmmm. Well, I intend on watching the parade, not riding in it. What does Skip know about float making anyway?” Nothing. Because why does he need any actual experience or knowledge about something to jump right in? James’ Flicks n’ Fun is only working because of Charlie’s help, the food truck, and the local residents that pitched in with suggestions and manpower. He is doing well in spite of himself.
Lake Hollow welcomed him as a new business owner almost instantly. With the exception of Gary Marlow of course, his grudge against the Gibsons transferred easily to us. The business owners banded together with Skip, linking arms like long lost friends. No wonder there are generations of families that stay in one spot when they treat each other like friends and family.
Thank God for Charlie’s goodwill. too. Uncle Skip is calling him constantly asking questions. Annoying. Like the magnanimous person he is, Charlie plays it off saying that it’s nice to feel useful. As long as Skip isn’t taking advantage of him. I find my uncle demanding, I just don’t want him exploiting Charlie’s kindness.
“Would you buzz off so I can get ready?” I say playfully to Nat, pulling her off the trunk I want to dig through. “We can walk to Talley’s later for ice cream if you want. Just us… Wilder doesn’t like peopling. Okay?”
As Wilder’s mouth drops open at the sight of me, I itch the skin under the faded gray herringbone knickers of the costume I put on. I felt like making a statement today. I unearthed a newsboy costume from the theater production of Newsies that mom worked on. Perfect. The whole statement behind the play based on the real story of kids that worked as newsboys in the 1890’s is that one, young people can be powerful agents of change, and two, the main newsboy, Jack Kelly, was a rebellious kid who had dreams of being an artist. To say that the story appealed to me is an understatement. It never hurt that the lead character was played by one of my crushes. I have fond memories of sneaking into the play to watch, because Relia never gave me a ticket to come. Why would she ever? Just another little bitter nudge reminding me how much I mattered to her.
“Christ. What’s with this get up?” I noticed the way he tamped down a smile when he saw me. I’m going to get to him eventually.
“I’m going full on vintage paperboy today. It spoke to me. Are you going to let me in or am I laying down and sacrificing my body to the mosquitos out here?”
He chuckles while holding the door open. “You do know that when someone calls you a free spirit it’s just a classy way of saying you’re out of fucking control, right?”
Probably. I own it just the same.
“Did you let Droolius out this morning?”
We do this cute thing where we answer questions with questions. He makes me feel contrary and bratty when I’m in his presence. Like I want him to lose all patience with me, grab me firmly, flip me over on his lap to spank me. No. Nope, stop it Remington James. Quit that now.
The muted brown newsboy hat keeps sliding down, so I pull it off to adjust my ponytail. “Well, did you? It took me a half an hour to find him near the lodge.” The tweed vest and bowtie are wool and even though the dingy white t-shirt of the costume keeps it from irritating the skin underneath, each time my arm makes contact, I want to toss it in the trash. I loosen the bowtie.
He hands me my usual coffee with dollops of cocoa mix, and a little milk. “I didn’t. Just like I never have. Do you need me to look at the latch on your door? Not a single one of you seem very handy.”
He’s not wrong, but I won’t admit it to his smug looking gorgeous face. “Must’ve been Winifred again. She’s been particularly restless since I came back.”
Wilder gazes out the window past me, a haunted look on his face. I notice a cut on his collar bone. Before I can stop myself, I reach out and touch next to it. “Did you have another seizure, is that how this happened?”
The look we exchange in silence is heavy.
His eyes are so expressive, the most exotic looking greenish hazel I’ve ever seen. A spark of want, a wave of melancholy, a flash of pain.
He shrugs, backing away, breaking contact. “What’s on your to-do list today? Save another animal? Do a full mural on your body? Launch an attack on all the evildoers within walking distance? What will it be?” He taps on his cheek, winking at me.
Laughter bursts out of me, while I chuck one of the throw pillows from the couch at his head. “Shut it. You ingrate.” Goddamn. Nope, off goes this vest. I ditch it on the couch, noticing that the T-shirt shows my nipples since I didn’t bother to sling the ladies up with a bra. Yay for little boobies. Fuck it. It’s not like I can entice Wilder, I’ve tried.
“Can we take a break from going over that last day of Sara’s life again. For the fiftieth time?” He leans back against the counter separating the kitchen from the living space. “It’s not helping with the seizures. I had one in the shower last night. That was not ideal.” When he glances back over at me, sans vest, he gulps and rubs at his jaw. “Why are you undressing?”
“What? I had to get rid of the vest. It smells musty and it was uncomfortable. Problem with that?”
He shakes his head, but he avoids looking at me. Mysteriously he grabs a sweatshirt, draping it over his arm in front of his groin area. “I called Detective Hemminger, she is stopping by tomorrow afternoon. Sounds like she wants to take statements from everyone again. That should be… fucking terrible.”
“Do you want me to be here? I don’t work tomorrow afternoon.” I hold my breath for his response, expecting him to sarcastically cut me down for suggesting I do that.
“Um. I’d be cool with that. But I don’t know if that’s going to be okay with Hemminger.” Me, either. But if his episodes are increasing, I’m afraid of what might happen to him if he’s alone after she leaves.
“Done. I’ll be here.” I tug the bowtie until it’s hanging between my breasts, itching at the skin under the knickers again.
“Are you sure you’re not about to strip? Does that costume have fleas?” He looks away quickly when I raise my face to his. A slight flush to his face.
“Ha. You wish. Now,” I fan at my face. He never has his fans or air conditioning on, “... you were going to tell me the other day why you threw my necklace in the lake.” No, he wasn’t.
Following him into his bedroom where he grabs a battery-operated handheld fan to pass me, he says, “Where’d you get the necklace?” His eyes narrow at me watching to see how I’ll respond.
“No. That’s not how this works. You tell me why you did that and then I’ll tell you where it came from. You first.” He’s so freaking frustrating. Half the time I want to pounce on him, kiss him like crazy, the other half I want to beat him silly with something annoying but harmless like a fluffy pillow. But mostly, I just want him to crack and trust me.
He falls back onto his bed in exasperation. “I can’t tell you that.”
Seems like a recurring theme in our conversations. Secrets are what got him into trouble, why can’t he see that?
Sitting next to him on the bed cross legged, I aim the fan at my burning hot legs. Although my entire body is about to burst into flames being this damn close to Wilder. And on his bed?! “Yeah, yeah. You can’t tell me. You keep saying that, but I’m not sure what the big deal is.”
He turns to look at me, propped up on one elbow. “Do your admirers know you’ve been spending time with me? Ya know… the suspect list?” He just had to throw that in there. Like I could forget about Carlotta’s accusations. That letter is on my mind all the time.
Making me imagine a plethora of scenarios, making my fears more nerve wracking.
“Of course. They’re not happy about it. Well, Cal and Charlie aren’t but Grady… listen, you need to talk to him.” That gets him to lay back down to face the ceiling with a scoff. “I don’t mean the stupid little notes you’ve left him either, like ‘your car is making a rattling noise it could be a loose timing belt’, or ‘don’t leave your windows open it’s going to rain tonight’.” I know why he does it, and so does Grady, but Wilder is even more stubborn than I am. That’s hella bad.
Before he can say anything, my mouth can’t be stopped, “Just go over there and fuck him. Just do it.”
A groan comes from him as he turns to look at me in disbelief, “You’re an absolute fucking lunatic. I can’t believe you just said that. Like… are you okay?”
Whoa. Yeah, I did say that out loud. Oh, ohhh… I just said the quiet part out loud. I did that. It needed to be said. As if I forgot the night I interrupted them only moments away from doing the deed. Hot and cold as usual.
“You heard me. And am I a lunatic? Obviously. I’m here with you, aren’t I?”
Putting a hand over his face, he mutters, “I fucking can’t with you. Where in the hell did you come from?” When he sits up to lean towards me, I do my level best to look unaffected, but holy shit… predatory comes to mind.
He’s going to kiss me… it’s happening. He’s so close to me that I feel his breath on the skin near my ear. The anticipation is like a lick of heat down my body. Just do it. Do it. Tensing, I take a labored breath.
With his voice low and teasing he says, “My breath just made you quiver. Can you imagine what my tongue could do?” He jumps up from the bed, looking back at me from the doorway with a smirk. “Grab that vile savory Jello mold in the fridge from Ceily. It’s full of floating olives and mystery meat. Consider it a punishment. I’m heading out.”