Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
“Horror movies?”
I’d suggested a walk around the lake after dinner.
Preston’s glowers were starting to chafe—Bella more than me, obviously—and we’d had three s’mores each, so we needed to walk off the sugar.
On top of that, I wasn’t ready to call it a night.
Sure, we were going to the same place, but once we got back to the cabin, things would turn awkward over our sleeping arrangements, and I didn’t want to deal with that. Not yet, at least.
Bella cast me a sidelong look. We’d been holding hands when leaving the bonfire area—all for show, of course—but we hadn’t released one another since disappearing from the view of the others.
“Surprised?” she asked, her tone teasing. “Girls can’t like horror?”
“Oh, that’s not true. Some of the biggest horror fiends I’ve ever met have been women. I just didn’t realize you liked horror movies as much as you apparently do.”
“I mentioned it before.”
“I know. I just thought you were saying that because I write horror. That would have actually been helpful to know before Preston started in with his snark. I almost blew it and started asking you a million questions.”
“Really?”
It was mostly dark at this point, but the trail was marked with solar stakes, so that path wasn’t hard to follow. I could only vaguely make out Bella’s features as we walked. “Why is that so surprising?”
She seemed to consider the question—like really consider it—for several seconds. “I guess Preston’s reaction to my horror-movie knowledge was so bad I thought most people would react that way. I thought I was the weird one.”
“Let me guess, he thinks you’re a deviant for liking horror movies.”
“He didn’t use that exact word, but he suggested therapy because I clearly had unexpressed violent tendencies.”
I snorted. “I hate people who think that. Just because I like watching a masked killer take out some campers, that doesn’t mean I have the inclination to do it in the real world. If I ever saw a real body, I would freak out.”
“You wouldn’t.” She shook her head. “I saw one when I was a kid.”
“In Salem? Did somebody take Halloween a little too seriously?”
“No. Somebody drowned. It was an older woman. They pulled her out of the water and gave her mouth to mouth on the beach. It was too late, though.”
“Ah. Did it traumatize you?”
“I wouldn’t go swimming for a month. It was hard for me to understand that she knew how to swim but still died.
My mother was patient and came up with a bunch of other things for us to do that summer that didn’t involve swimming.
She was extremely relieved that I seemed to be over it the following summer. ”
“Does Salem have a lot of water?”
“Oh, yeah. There are bays and beaches all over the place. One of my favorite walks is this little spit of land on the Derby Wharf. There’s a light station, not overly big, at the end, and you walk past the Friendship of Salem.”
“What’s that? A statue?”
“No. It’s a replica tall ship with a museum. It has a theater and everything.”
“Weird.”
“It’s just one of the things you get used to.” She laughed. “You write horror, and you’ve never been to Salem?”
“No, but it’s on my list. Maybe you’ll have to show me around sometime.”
She looked thrown, and I realized immediately how that sounded.
“I mean, if we’re ever in Boston as a group or something,” I added lamely. That sounded ridiculous, but it was too late to haul the words back into my mouth.
“Sure.” She nodded.
“I can meet your mom,” I supplied, just to make things worse.
“You want to meet my mom?” She cocked her head, puzzlement glinting in her eyes. Was she trying to ascertain if I was messing with her? Preston had done a real number on her self-esteem. I hated him for it.
“Of course,” I answered without hesitation. “She sounds amazing.”
“She is amazing. I have a lot of guilt where she’s concerned.”
“Because Preston said nasty things about her?”
“And I didn’t spend as much time with her as I should have because of Preston’s opinion.” Her face screwed up in annoyance. “Stupid Preston. I want to blame him for everything. That was my fault, though. I’m an adult, and I could have just told him no.”
I chose my words carefully. “People outside of a situation cast a lot of aspersions on what others should do when being unable to handle problems in their own lives that others could easily push aside.
“Your problems are unique to you, and you shouldn’t let others judge you for what happened,” I continued. “He gaslit you, and he was apparently good at it. You could have done things differently, but that really doesn’t matter. What does matter is where your head is at now.”
“Now I don’t understand how I ever convinced myself I had feelings for him at all,” she admitted ruefully. “When I look at him, I just want to smack him around.”
That made me grin. “I saw they have some of those giant Q-tip things to do battles in the water. They’re for kids, but I bet I can maneuver him into a water day so you can beat the snot out of him.”
“Giant Q-tips?” She was understandably confused.
“I believe they’re actually called jousts, but they always remind me of Q-tips.”
“Oh, you mean those big sticks with the soft ends that kids use to whale on each other?”
“Yes.”
She fell silent for several seconds. “I’ll think about it.”
“Good idea.”
We lapsed into amiable silence. Because I wanted to know her more—a very odd feeling—I couldn’t let the horror movies go. “I believe you can learn a lot about people by their favorite horror movies,” I prodded.
“You want me to tell you my favorite horror movie? Okay, Ghostface.”
I laughed. “No, I want you to reenact them so I can guess.” I released her hand, somewhat reluctantly, and pointed toward the woods. “Stalk me and see if I can guess who you are.”
She pressed her lips together, her eyebrows rising toward her hairline, and my heart skipped a beat. It was the most adorable expression I’d ever seen. “Do you want me to do it first?” I asked.
“I want to play,” she whined. “I just don’t know if I understand the rules.”
“There are no rules.” I moved forward on the trail and stepped behind a large bush.
“What are you doing?” she called out.
“Just wait.” I took a deep breath and then stepped out from behind the bush, spreading my legs slightly and staring like a goon. Anybody with half a brain would have been terrified.
Bella burst out laughing. “Michael Myers,” she said automatically.
I nodded. “See? It’s an easy game.”
“Can I use Michael Myers again if I see something that reminds me of him in a different movie?”
“Sure.” That was only fair. “I would prefer it if we didn’t acknowledge the Rob Zombie movies.”
“They were awful, right?” she exploded. “It’s much scarier when you don’t know Michael’s motivations.”
“I agree. I like a few of Zombie’s movies, but the white trash thing can’t carry every franchise. Plus, I have no problem with swearing, but every other word in those movies started with F, and it gets old.”
“Hayley would not approve,” she teased.
“Hayley’s head would implode. I would like to take her to a Rob Zombie movie just so she could scream ‘language’ five hundred times in a two-hour period.”
Bella unexpectedly bent at the waist and burst out laughing. The sound was somehow magical, and I froze in my spot, warmth washing over me. I imagined what it would be like to hear that laugh all the time. Quick images filled my mind.
Bella and I at the farmer’s market.
Bella and I riding in one of those open-top hearses for a tour.
Bella and I poking around one of the cemeteries.
Bella and I having coffee and doughnuts on a bench and people-watching, making up background stories for everybody we saw, the more macabre the better.
Bella and I having romantic dinners.
Bella and I in bed.
I had to shake my head to dislodge the thoughts. Where had they come from? I was not a relationship guy, and all of those were relationship things. They were the things Brody and Bree did on weekends and laughed about, things I mocked them for even though they didn’t care.
My mouth was suddenly dry, and I realized I wasn’t listening. She hadn’t noticed, though, because she kept yammering on about how Rob Zombie had ruined the Halloween franchise.
“Right?” she asked as she wrapped up whatever she’d been saying.
I had no idea what it had been, but I nodded anyway. “Absolutely.”
“Okay.” She looked around. “Let’s play the game.” She pressed her lips together. “Can I describe things that obviously aren’t out here and make you guess?”
I understood what she was suggesting. “Absolutely. Let’s do it.”
She practically skipped to the grass and pointed. “There’s a picnic blanket here and a motorcycle just over there. A tool of a guy is proposing with cheap champagne. He wants accolades, but the chirpy woman with him just wants to stare at her ring.”
Bella tiptoed toward where she’d established the blanket, and a warmth blew threw me at her antics. She was the furthest thing from an intimidating figure, but she was giving it her all.
“Friday the 13th,” I said automatically.
“Which one?” she challenged.
“The sixth one, which happens to be my favorite Friday the 13th movie.”
She stood straighter. “Mine too.”
I grinned. That wasn’t surprising now that I was getting to know her. “It’s the funniest one.”
“Yes.” She bobbed her head. “And it’s the only one other than the first two that has actual counselors at the camp.”
“It’s the only one with kids.”
“Except you know the kids are never in any real danger.”
“Jason would never kill a kid,” I agreed.
“Or a dog.”
“No, only Michael kills dogs.”
Her smile was so wide that the moon gleamed off it. “What’s your favorite horror movie of all time?”
It wasn’t a hard question to answer. “It’s not original,” I warned her.
“Mine isn’t either. There’s a reason certain horror movies are classics.”